Task Force 141
by chocolatetater-tot
Summary: Starting a completely new life was never easy, but no one ever said it wasn't exciting. New faces, new places, and new ways to have fun was the way to live if you're Gary Sanderson. Stepping off that bus and into his new home was just the start of it all.
1. Accepted

Gary Sanderson was a man who wanted a life of adventure, to experience what it felt like to be a hero, whether recognized or not. He didn't care about notoriety or the title of 'war hero'. All he wanted to do was have a little fun, even if it meant dodging bullets and shooting down terrorists. Living a simple life of graduating college, finding a decent girl, and settling down at an early age with a solid job and a family just sounded boring to Sanderson. Maybe some people enjoyed the simplicity, but not him. In fact, he honestly didn't understand why others avoided the challenges and adventures life had to offer. Who wanted to die without any battle scars, anyway? That sounded downright unthinkable to him.

So when Gary received a letter in mail, with a dagger and a pair of spread wings plastered in the top right hand corner, his heart raced. He ripped open the paper, indifferent towards the envelope's damage, and began reading through the words, only really paying attention to keywords, such as 'accepted' , 'training camp', and 'bus will arrive' . He was living his dream. The British Special Air Service had welcomed him in, he had passed his test and was picked out of a select few. Already he was feeling enlightened and giddy. He felt childish as he prepared his few belongings and stared at the walls of his apartment. He knew he'd be kissing this old life 'goodbye'.

But then he saw her face, framed by dark brown, wavy hair. His smile grew. How excited would she be when she heard the news? The lovely girl always encouraged Gary and his dreams, he only hoped her excitement was half as his.

One week. That would be when he'd be waving farewell to his parents and kissing his girlfriend 'goodbye'. That idea would have sounded dreadful to any normal person, but Gary Sanderson was nowhere near normal.


	2. Nicknames

The bus smelled weird. What was it? Exhaust? Mildew? That nervous looking fellow sitting diagonally from him? Whatever it was, it added onto his melancholy. He didn't understand…this is what he wanted, he dreamt of this day. But instead, he hung his head low and gawked continuously at the picture of the girl with the dark brown, wavy hair. Seeing her face stung like walking on broken glass, but he also couldn't stop. So apparently she _wasn't_ as excited as he was. In fact, she was rather upset. _Upset._ After all those enthusiastic conversations and words of motivation, the girl was upset. What a bitch, he thought.

He glared out the window, watching the passing pines, wondering how much longer this intolerable road trip would last. Then the man sitting behind him leaned over the back of his seat and tapped him on the shoulder. He peered at the brown haired man.

"Hey, why so blue, man?" he asked, rolling his tongue in his mouth.

Sanderson didn't know how to reply at first. He had heard a few talks about others lives they were leaving behind, but no one was really conversing with each other. It was more like blinded babble. Say this and that about whatever, and then pretend to listen to the other guy's story. Sanderson just kept to himself the whole time so far, I guess it was his turn to talk to deaf ears.

"Eh, just thinking," Gary replied, with his eyes looking back out through the dirty window.

"Just thinking? Nervous about the training camp, and those hard-assed Captains?"

Gary stared at him through the corner of his vision, mouth slightly open. He sighed, "Not at all."

The man blinked a few times before pointing a tanned finger at the photo in his hand. "It's the girl isn't it? You missing her already?"

This had Gary turning his head to face him. His brown eyes widened. "I definitely do not miss this bitch."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa there tiger. What happened?"

Gary was no shy person. He may appear to keep to himself, but when put in the spotlight, he does his best and surely does _not _hold back any feelings. "She cheated on me with my best friend and then dumped me. Apparently, she didn't like the idea of me 'leaving her like that'."

"Ouch. Happen in that order?"

He dwelled on this question. It was a rather stupid one, considering it had already been answered, but Gary wasn't about to direct his anger towards the curious man, after all, it was all Alison's fault. "Yes, unfortunately, it happened in that order."

The man smiled, "I guess you're actually happy to be out of there."

He didn't hesitate, "You have no idea." With this said, he shoved the picture away.

The man chuckled, jutting out an opened palm, "The name's Ben, but you can call me 'Meat'."

Gary cocked his head. "Meat? Do I want to know why they call you that?"

Meat laughed again and stared ahead with a toothy, white grin, chin resting on his crossed arms. "Well, it's a tradition at these camps that every new man coming in gets a nickname. People usually get nicknames when they arrive, but some come with names already. And mine? Well, I got it from where I came from." He paused and directed towards a guy minding his own business in the seat next to him. "Me and my buddy, Tim, grew up in Liverpool together, and my dad was a butcher. So you can imagine the amount of meat I had around the house and in my life."

Tim shook his head. "So, I started calling him 'Meat'. The guy ate steak for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"And sometimes for snacks." Meat said matter-of-factly.

Gary stared at them both. He found it interesting that two friends were on the same bus, heading to the same location. He kind of wished he had known someone as well. He guessed that's what making friends was for.

"You have a nickname?" He questioned towards Tim, who's grin faded into a smirk.

"Sure do, people call me Royce."

"He loves Rolls-Royce's. He thinks God shit them out." Meat murmured with that everlasting wise-ass grin.

"They're beautiful." Royce stated.

Meat waved him off. "Whatever you say, mate."

There was a moment of silence before Gary felt the staring fall onto him. They were waiting for his name.

"So…?" Royce began as Meat slapped Gary's shoulder.

"How about you, mate? Any special names?"

Gary shook his head with his mouth angled. "Not at all. The name's just Gary for now. I guess I will have to trip off the bus when we get there."

"Or we can give you one now."

"Yeah, like 'Heartbreaker'." Royce suggested. Meat turned in his seat to glare at his friend.

"That sounds completely gay."

Royce laughed, "No, 'Butt Pirate' sounds completely gay."

The nervous man sitting diagonally from Gary turned his head to stare at the conversing men. He looked like he wanted to join.

Meat shrugged. "I guess we will just have to wait…which I feel bad for you. Usually, the names given at camps are pretty insulting. They like to take the most embarrassing trait from you and turn it into your new name. You shit your pants and the name 'Irritable Bowels' shows up on your dog tags."

"'Irritable Bowels', that would be pretty bad." Gary exclaimed.

Royce agreed with a nod.

"Most definitely," Meat replied before getting suddenly excited. He had a story to tell. "I heard about a guy who was caught wanking under his blanket--"

"Let me guess, they called him 'Wanker'." Royce mumbled.

"They sure as hell did."

"You made that up."

Meat became insulted, with his look of surprise. "I most certainly did not! Ask someone when we get there!"

"Like our Captain? 'Hey! Captain Sir! Was there ever a guy named 'Wanker'?" Royce acted out with raised eyebrows.

"And I'll bet he'll say 'yes'. And go into a long, detailed story about the one they call 'Wanker'."

Royce shook his head, "Doubt it."

Meat, was not only a defensive fellow, he was also a bit too energized. He suddenly switched topics.

"Speaking of which, I wonder what our Captain will be like…"

"Probably old." The nervous man said.

Meat pointed a finger, with a crooked grin. "Hey, you finally said something up there. I was beginning to assume you were mute."

The quiet man only returned a smile and turned back towards his window. Gary felt like doing the same. He enjoyed listening to Royce and Meat, but he was suddenly beginning to realize just how anxious he was becoming. It was late afternoon, and it had so far been a two hour bus ride to Credenhill. Usually, Gary could tolerate long trips, but oddly, this one felt dreadful. So when the tops of the hangers and armories came into view, he released a much needed sigh. Gary had to admit, no one seemed as thrilled as Meat, because he let loose a blissful cheer.


	3. Rules and Expectations

Stepping off the bus was the single most amazing thing Gary had done in the past week. Everything else had been like living through hell. What he thought was the love of his life proved that she really _wasn't_ the love of his life, by being the backstabber she truly was. Not to mention, saying farewell to his parents was by far the most awkward thing alone. His dying mother wouldn't even talk to him, she was too in shock to speak. Like she hated him or something. She always used to say, "Gary Adam, don't keep getting your hopes up for nothing. You're not going to make it into that military branch. They only want the best of the best". That by itself was enough to make Gary try even harder.

Then his father would try to justify her words by saying, "Gary, she's very sick. She just wants to make sure you're safe." Well, she had been talking like that for five years. Five long years of fighting lung cancer. The doctors were still being surprised by her longevity. But nothing could justify those hurtful words. Nothing.

So when she wouldn't even look at him, lying under her many layers of thick blankets, he wasn't at all surprised. But she looked so pitiful. Her smoke filled room, her sagging eyes; the woman was only 49 and could easy pass as a stressed 60 year old woman.

"Mum, you shouldn't be smoking."

"I don't care, I'm dying anyways," she choked.

Gary could only shake his head and pat her weak leg. He sat up from the bed and walked away, holding his breath, trying to keep the poisonous gas from entering his body. Outside the room, was his fatigued looking father. He was rubbing his aged hands with his shoulders slumped. Gary stared into his reddened, grey eyes and couldn't help but feel an odd mixture of sadness and animosity.

"Dad, don't let her smoke." Gary demanded, pointing a finger towards the closed-off bedroom.

"It's what she wants, Gary. I don't want to stop her," his father had said through a weakened voice.

He shook his head side to side, eyes widening with an unparalleled dismay. "Seriously? Dad, that's why she's _dying_. Are all of you people mad?"

His father raised his shaking hands and placed them on his son's broad shoulders. "The doctors aren't giving her anymore than a few weeks. That won't help anything."

Gary's head had dropped. He stared down at his father's slippers and blinked slowly. Slippers. His parents were acting and starting to look so _old_. He was only 28 and already his mother was passing away and his father's feet dragged. He finally looked up, biting his lip.

"Am I the only one who still finds it wrong?"

His father sighed, "Son, it's the only thing that makes her happy."

"Well, that sure is obvious, because I sure as hell don't."

His father's eyes narrowed while he shook his head. "No, she loves you, she--"

"Really? Then why can't she even say 'goodbye' to her own son. I may _never_ see her again."

There was a moment's silence. During this interval, Gary could feel his father's spirits crumble. "Gary, we're both very proud of you. It's just…" he peered down at his father, "--it's just I think she's afraid you're going to get really hurt. And as a mother, she doesn't want to see her child dying at an early age. She can relate to that."

Gary absorbed that idea and nodded slowly. "Yeah, but it's what I want to do, and I don't care if nobody supports me. I've dreamt of this day for years. I'm not quitting now."

His father agreed with a simple nod. "I know."

Gary looked over at the closed door, with a sense of longing. All he wanted was for his mother to smile. Just once. He hadn't seen her smile ever since the day she was diagnosed with the lethal disease. After that moment, her once beautiful smile had faded into a weary, indifferent line, and it hurt him so badly. Not even the news of her son's success could bring her joy. If anything, it destroyed her more.

"Listen, dad," his father looked up. "Please…tell her I said I love her."

"I will, son."

He left shortly after. Only feeling more depressed and lonely than before.

Thinking about that moment made him even more glad to be on a new turf. The air smelled crisp and clean. Hardly any civilization around, and he loved it. Meat and Royce exited the bus shortly after Gary and dropped their bags. Once everyone had stepped off the bus, they all stopped their movements to stare at a tall man who had his arms crossed. His blue eyes were narrowed judgmentally and his mouth lay flat. The probing stare was enough to make any man lose his dignity. Gary swallowed hard, he hadn't noticed how dry his mouth had gotten during the long trip, but now, it was bothering him. Meat had managed to emit a whispered snicker before the man spoke.

"Alright men, glad to see you finally made it," as he spoke, his accented words revealed a rather lively man. "I'm going to call role to confirm every man's presence, then we will search your belongings for any unnecessary possessions." He gestured towards two men standing near his side.

"Unnecessary belongings?" Meat questioned silently.

Royce rolled his eyes and replied, "Like porn, Meat."

"Porn? Seriously?"

Both Gary and Royce turned their heads over their shoulders to stare at Meat who had suddenly grown rather anxious.

"Yeah, porn. What, did you bring some?" Royce laughed.

Meat couldn't reply. He only stared at the tall man with a clipboard in his hands. The timing was bad, because the blue-eyed man returned the stare and immediately read Meat's face, which wasn't too difficult, because anyone could have read his furrowed, tensed expression.

"Are you joking?" Gary asked through a wide smile.

He shook his head swiftly. "I wasn't thinking. At _all_." The tall man had already began calling role.

"Edward Biggins,"

"Here,"

Royce chuckled again. "You're going to get busted."

Meat stared down at the two men as they began looking through the seven men's baggage. One bag per man. The work would go by swiftly…but also painfully.

"Timothy Buckley,"

"Here, sir,"

The tall man nodded in return, as if praising Royce for his proper reply.

"Benjamin Harwood,"

Meat stiffened up. "Here," his voice cracked. Gary peered at him through the corner of his eye and Royce could only hold his breath. The tall man stopped calling role to step closer to Meat with a dangerous authority. When he was inches from Meat's face his eyebrows arched.

"Your voice always sound like that?"

Meat shook his head. "No sir, just excited to be here, sir."

The man allowed a smile to grow across his face. "Well, jolly good, ya bugger."

Meat bit his lip and waited patiently.

"Melvin Jacobs,"

"Present,"

The blue-eyed man stared at the man who answered his role. "Of course a muppet like you would say, 'present'."

Melvin shifted uneasily.

"Relax, I'm just messing with you. Don't go crying on me. The real torture hasn't even started yet." The man cleared his throat and returned his attention to the role-call. "Gary Sanderson."

"Here, sir," he replied solidly, enough to have the man glance up at him.

While the man was finishing up the seven man role, the two searchers had finally made it to Meat's bag. The one froze up briefly and began digging deeper until he frowned and pulled a nudy-mag out from the depths of Meat's baggage. Words could not describe the amount of awkward tension that built up when the magazine fluttered open and revealed an elongated page that nearly touched the ground.

The role was finished and the tall man chewed on the inside of his cheek, glaring through light brown eyebrows. All attention was on Meat.

"O.K., honestly, I'm not lying. I seriously, don't even know why I put that there, sir." Meat exclaimed with raised shoulders and widened eyes.

The tall man stepped forward and seized the magazine from one of the men and closed its pages. "Harwood, was it?"

"Yes, sir," he replied meekly. Royce smiled widely.

"Nice to meet you, the names Lieutenant Simon Riley, and I'm second in command."

"That's a nice name," Meat said sincerely. Simon Riley stopped all movement to allow his mind to process the entire design of Meat and what he was made of.

"Very funny…have any other names?"

Meat stared at the sky momentarily before looking back down. "Friends call me Meat…"

Instantaneously, the second in command burst out in laughter. "Seriously? Meat?" Meat nodded confusedly. "How appropriate, if I say so myself." He patted him on the shoulder, while the others chuckled, and returned to his original position in front of the group. He exhaled before continuing. "It appears that all seven of you are properly prepared now, so I think we can move to the next stage of events." He allowed the men to ponder shortly. "You seven are splitting up into two different regiments based on your performance reviews from selection, and by the looks of it, Meat, Sanderson, and Buckley, you're all coming with me." The three looked at each other with friendly stares. "Welcome to the Task Force 141, gentlemen. As for the rest of you: Jacobs, Biggins, McKidd, and Andrews, you'll be following Ozone here to the 22nd Regiment. "

With those words said, everyone grabbed their belongings and began following their leaders to their wards. It had rained the night before, and large mud puddles overpopulated the dirt trails leading up to the hangers, obstacle courses, and dorms. Gary drifted off into his own world while Meat and Royce chatted softly. He already liked it here. Even the humidity wasn't even enough to bother him. He could already tell that Simon Riley would prove to be quite an entertainment, not to mention, Meat alone was already an amusement.

Suddenly, Simon Riley waved the magazine through the air, getting the men's attention. "I hope you don't mind me showing this to your Captain, Meat. You'll be meeting him tomorrow."

Meat stared blankly before being hit with a sudden realization. "Shit, you're showing the _Captain_?" Simon looked over his shoulder with glinting eyes. "Hey, now, I don't want to be know as the bad one in the group."

"Well, your name _is_ Meat…not much we can do for you now."

Meat could only sigh.

"Relax, you guys are rather lucky. This Captain's a good one. He's not too hard on his men, but he does expect certain behavior. The man will grow on ya."

"So, we're meeting him tomorrow?" Royce questioned.

"You sure are, right after breakfast."

"What's his name?" Meat asked. Simon Riley enjoyed listening to Meat. The young lad was good at making a fool of himself.

"MacTavish."

"Ooh, is he Irish?"

Royce sighed, "Scottish, you wanker." Riley nodded.

Meat grew entranced by his own thoughts and smirked dumbly. "Will he be wearing Scottish attire?"

"Oh my God…" Royce mumbled, placing his face in his hands.

"…like a kilt?" Simon Riley inquired slowly.

Meat nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, like a kilt."

Simon Riley stopped at the door of a dorm and placed his hand on the knob. "Common sense is greatly appreciated around here, Meat. You might wanna try using it."

With those words being said, Simon opened the door for them and motioned for the three men to continue. Gary strode in first, with a heavy bag over his right shoulder; it swayed and hit the doorframe.

"What you got in that thing, Sanderson?" Riley inquired with quizzing eyes.

Gary stopped in mid-walk to lean his weight off to the side. His mouth parted, "The bag, sir?"

Simon nodded. "Yes, the bag."

Gary patted the side of it with a smile. "Why, it's just my belongings, sir."

The second in command had no answer and only ambled past them. There were other men in the large living space, but only four others.

"Alright, you men pick a spot and keep that spot. We can't have everyone getting too picky and obnoxious. Oh," Simon pointed towards the other end of the room, where the men followed his pointing finger, "there's only one bathroom, but it's a big one. You're all expected to share. We figured you all _are_ men and shouldn't have a problem with that."

Meat shook his head while the other two observed the space and pondered which bed they would most enjoy. It didn't take too long for them to find their spots and take a seat. Simon tapped on the clipboard with a pen to get all of those present attention. Each man peered up with wondering eyes.

"So, here's how it goes. Pretty simple: you all get to know each other, each one of you is a brother now, you look out after them. Your Captain tomorrow will explain the rest of that, but right now, I'm here to compile everything. Sound too hard so far?" He scanned the room to confirm all of the 'no, sirs' and shaking heads. "Good, I'm liking you all already. Alright, so dinner tonight will be served in the mess hall at 1800 hours sharp, and for those of you on the slow side," he paused to look at Meat, who immediately huffed with annoyance, "1800 hours can also be known as 6 'o clock P.M. and you're all expected to have served yourselves _and_ eat in 45 minutes. If you don't know where to find the mess hall, find me or ask an advisor. But honestly, you can't miss it, it's the giant building in the center.

"The good news is, after dinner means free-time, so you all can relax until the curfew hits, which is 2200 hours. Pretty fair, if I say so myself. And I would hope you all would be exhausted by then and mature enough to know when you should be hitting the sack, because da-da-da-da," he made quick trumpet sound, "you all will be woken up in the morning, by a loud siren at 0630 hours. Breakfast will be down at the mess hall, ready by 0700 hours, where you will only have 30 minutes to eat.

"Make sure you boys wake prepared, because after breakfast is when the fun starts." One of the men hooted. "That's right. Your training starts, and oh, how could I forget? You all get to meet your lovely Captains." Simon fell quiet to scope around the room, confirming his suspicions. "If I'm right, we're still missing some of you boys. Another bus will be arriving at 1700 hours, so not all of you will be meeting the same Captain. Some of you men are with MacTavish, while the others have Lombard." He scratched the scruff on his face. "Which reminds me, I'm not the only advisor for this dorm. There's Michael Claythorne too, but you guys can call him Archer."

Royce looked around at the many faces before returning his stare to Simon Riley. "What about you?"

A smile grew across the man's oval shaped face. "Ghost will do just fine."

* * *

Things will start picking up, guys. I promise :)


	4. Roach

Hey everyone, thanks for the comments/faves/alerts :) I really appreciate it. Anytime you guys like it or feel like maybe I'm missing something, please let me know. It helps to hear those things.

Sean: Hey...lol, don't worry aboout saying 'man'. I'm not offended in any way XD If anything, it gave me a good laugh.

* * *

So far, every man had been polite and getting to know names was no hassle. The only hard part was remembering all of them. There was Petey, who was the straight forward one. If you had a booger hanging, he'd just point and say, "Nose nugget, left nostril." Then there was Samuel and Hammerhead, both of which kept to themselves, and although answered questions, never really went out of their way to meet people. Gary saw them as potentially disrespectful, and not necessarily as two men just trying to be professional. Then there was Jack, the oddly quiet one. He wasn't like Samuel or Hammerhead, where he was just _trying_ to avoid people, he was just legitimately shy. Gary could tell by the way he smiled meekly and hunched over. He wondered how long the guy would last in a place like this; already he was being bantered. Hopefully, the guy would shine when it came to the obstacles and training tomorrow.

And just like Ghost had said, the mess hall was the huge building in the middle, couldn't miss it. Unless you were Meat, who walked into a hanger while training was taking place. If someone wants awkward moments to occur every second, then Meat was the one to hang around. Already he's been speaking Spanish and saying the wrong things at the wrong time. But he was likeable. Which meant his survival rate was high around these strict men.

Gary looked around the vast room, with his mouth and hands full of food. He enjoyed people watching, and in here, they really knew how to select unique individuals. He was snapped out of his little trance when he was hit with a small amount of mashed potatoes. He followed the trail to find, the one and only, Meat on the other end. The man grinned when their eyes met. Gary gestured confusion.

"You look like your lost or something."

Gary smirked and scrapped up the rest of his potatoes with a piece of bread. "I'm not the one who's lost. I'm pretty sure you're the one wandering into training sessions."

Royce laughed, shooting a sparse amount of food from his mouth onto the table. Gary noticed this, but Meat was too dumbstruck to care.

"Ew," Gary said quickly before Meat had his little outburst.

"Hey! No me gusta, amigo! It was an accident anyways," he gesticulated widely with his arms, "they need signs up or something."

"What's with the Spanish?" Petey said from the other side of Royce.

Meat shrugged. "I like it."

"Yeah, but you've been randomly speaking it for the past half-hour."

"There _are_ signs everywhere. You're just missing them," Royce chuckled, bringing his drink to his lips.

"O.K., one at a time." Meat demanded, lowering his eyes to the table with annoyance.

"Easy guys, we don't want to overwhelm him." Gary joked.

"That would be bad," Petey mumbled with a mouthful of chicken.

The men laughed. Gary could feel his sense of loneliness fading. Listening to their conversations and stories was enough to make any person warm inside. After all, a man is no man without friends.

The room itself was full of life, but it was all very controlled, minus Meat hitting Gary with potatoes. Not once could you see a piece of bread being thrown through the air, or hear laughter reaching too high of a volume.

The blissful feeling at the table suddenly dispersed when Samuel opened his mouth. "You boys might not want to act too childish. I heard the Captains are eating in here tonight. Watching everything we do. You might wanna not throw food." He eyeballed Meat while turning in his seat to stand, tray in hand. The comment might have slipped by as a light-hearted statement, if it hadn't been for the way the man presented it. His words poured out in a very degrading manner.

Meat glanced at Royce and Gary, feeling rather blind-sided. Petey peered over his shoulder to watch Samuel throw his trash away.

"Oh yeah, I heard someone saying something like that," Petey said while turning back to his tray. "Apparently, our Captains _are_ watching us, just trying to get a feel for what kind of men they'll be dealing with tomorrow."

"Oh great," Meat huffed, leaning back in his chair. "So now I'm going to be known as the one with porn and the one who flings food." He looked over at Royce with wide, questioning eyes. "Royce?"

He returned the stare. "What?"

"Think the Captain will be mad?"

Royce pondered this and eventually shook his head. "Nah, he'll probably be happy you brought the porn." Both men smiled brilliantly.

"I wouldn't worry about it, they're probably mainly watching us to see our type of character." Gary added in.

Suddenly, Petey placed his arms on the table and leaned forward. "You brought porn??" Meat nodded, biting his lip. "Still have it?"

He shook his head violently. "Hell no, I don't. Ghost snatched it away. We're not allowed having that kind of stuff here. We're supposed to be 'obedient'."

"That's right." Hammerhead commented from the end of the table.

The four men glanced real quick, but found it irrelevant to give any attention.

"Ghost took it?" Petey inquired, only to receive another nod from Meat. "Oh man, how much you wanna bet he's keeping it for himself."

Meat sat up, eyebrows furrowing. "Yeah! He did say he was going to show the Captain, which meant he _is_ keeping it for himself."

"No, you morons, he'd get in trouble too if he was sneaking peeks. He's just showing the Captain to make you more skittish." Royce claimed with irritation.

"Well, it's working." Meat announced quickly.

"Speaking of which…" Petey nodded his head in Meat's direction, causing the other men to turn in their seats or look ahead.

On the far side of the room was Simon Riley with his back turned towards them. He was chatting with a man who bore a shaved head, the only hair being in the middle, forming a Mohawk-like style.

"I wonder who he's talking to…" Royce thought out loud while the others just stared.

Shortly after, all of them had finished their meals and began heading back towards their dorm. By the time they reached the door, Gary's eyelids were growing heavy. He was rather surprised by his sudden fatigue. As they walked in, Meat threw himself on his bed.

"Ah! Who else is ready for tomorrow?" He asked, quickly receiving positive answers.

By now, the other men Ghost had mentioned had already arrived and settled in. So their numbers had already doubled.

While some men chatted, threw their clothes on the floor, or went into the bathroom, Gary began to go through his bag. He hated to admit it, but he was looking for her picture. He needed a familiar face, and the worse part of it all, was that he was starting to miss her. As he rummaged through his junk he flung his bag to the ground out of disgust. This sudden display of distraught had Royce, Meat, and a few others look over at him with curious faces.

"What the hell was _that_ all about??" Meat asked loudly.

Gary himself didn't _really_ know what it was about, but something had moved inside his bag, and he didn't like that one bit. If it was a spider, he wouldn't have been too thrilled about it. He never was a fan of spiders. Ever since his slightly older brother's tarantula had escaped from its cage, when they were kids, and managed to snuggle with Gary in his bed, he had grown accustomed to loathing the creatures. But as the bag lay on the floor with everyone's watchful eye on it, an innocent roach scurried out. It may have been an innocent one, but it definitely was no normal cockroach. Its antennas were elongated, and its hardened, shining body stretched to a good two inches. Royce chased after the insect with a paper cup and captured it. Gary watched the whole scene, feeling a little better knowing it was no spider.

"Nasty! That thing crawled out of your bag, Sanderson!" Petey laughed and pointed towards the bag on the floor.

"Hey, Royce what are you doing with that thing?" Meat asked while sitting out of bed.

Royce cleared his throat before speaking. "I'm bringing it outside."

"Why?'

"Because," he opened the door and threw it out, "I figured it would be easier than trying to kill it."

"Nah, you just stomp on the thing."

Royce began walking back. "Meat, their shells are hard, and that thing was quick. We probably would have made bigger fools out of ourselves just trying to step on it."

"Yeah, that thing was pretty fast. Looks like Sanderson brought in a mutant roach." Petey stated indifferently while Meat suddenly laughed.

"Hey, Roach!" Gary looked up at Meat with a boyish face. "He even responded to it!"

Gary instantly felt all of the eyes fall onto him, and immediately he could predict where this would go.

"I wonder how that got in there," he inquired.

Petey shrugged. "It may have actually came from in here. I saw a centipede earlier," he paused for a moment. "Either way…it came from your bag."

"That's fantastic." Gary sighed sarcastically. The very thought of it had him leering at the bag out of disgust, and now his next worries were beginning to flourish.

Later that evening, while the men were settling into their beds, Meat made a comment that had Gary rolling his eyes. "So, Roach. Ready for tomorrow?"

"Really, now? Is 'Roach' gonna stick?" Gary asked, lifting his head up from his pillow.

Meat brought his hands out and shrugged. "Sure, I like the ring of it."

"Me too," Royce added in while taking a bite from a granola bar.

Meat pointed towards him with surprise. "Where'd you get that?"

He waved the snack through the air. "I brought it, so no need to panic on me."

"I'm not panicking," Meat replied while running a hand through his dark hair. "I just want one…"

Royce grinned, with a mouth full of food shoved off to the side, and threw a granola bar at him. It overshot and landed near Gary's bed.

"Hey Roach," Gary glanced up at him with a hint of annoyance. "Do you mind?"

Gary sighed and leaned forward. "Not at all, Meaty." He flung the snack from the floor and into Meat's opened palm.

"Haha, Meaty. I like that," he replied with a chuckle.

Gary smiled to himself and rolled over to face the door. He would fall asleep listening to others' breathing and quiet talking. So, Roach was it? He figured he could warm up to that.


	5. Training Day Part 1

Once again, thank you all for the reviews! I'm just glad people are enjoying it. Also, this chapter was going to be long, so I'm breaking it up into two parts. I like reading, but I never really liked the OVER extended chapters. It's nice to have a break here and there, so I figured you all would like the same. Enjoy! :)

* * *

Gary fidgeted in his deep slumber. His mind ran rampant and flashed unpleasant images before his mental vision. He was a young boy again, close to the age of ten, garbed in his little tux. Why he was wearing it, he couldn't say. His face was soft, and his brown eyes big with life.

The room was shrouded with a thick, intoxicating layer of haze; furniture only became visible when he was in touching distance. Something suddenly clicked. He knew this room, he had seen it before, but his thoughts couldn't place it…so it's familiarity was completely irrelevant, but it severely bothered him. The youthful vision of himself continued through the fog, uncaring of the surroundings, whatever they may be. He had no control over his legs, they just advanced him further. His face contorted with aggravation. What was going on?

The more he walked the more he began to see people, people he knew. Friends and relatives, all from different sides. But something was odd. They all just gawked lifelessly ahead, as if entranced by some hidden force. His legs began moving faster. What were they staring at? He had to know.

As he continued through the people, the crowd thickened, as well as the smoke and the shadows surrounding him. Why was he the only child? Then he froze. Smoke? This fog was actually _smoke._ Suddenly, he realized where he stood. It was his old house, his parents' living room. It had always been a long room, but this one seemed exaggerated and eerie.

Then he saw their faces. The recognizable faces of his father, brother, and sister. They were angled and facing the fireplace. He wanted to holler out their names and wave widely, but what he saw stiffened him up entirely with fear. Their faces were as pale as death, stained with tears. His father's eyes sagged with moisture and his brother comforted his sister. But…where was his mother? His mouth parted and he turned to face the fireplace. He now knew what they were staring at…

Within the flames of the enlarged fireplace, was his mother. She was burning. The smell was _awful_. He always despised the scent of her smoke, but this was downright unbearable. He scanned around at the people, but no one was doing anything. Instead, they just stared blankly into the growing fire. Then there was this high-pitched wailing. Like some sort of dying creature. Instead, it was her. But it sounded so _inhuman_. He ran for her; if no one would save her, then he would.

"Has everyone gone mad?"

When he reached the mantel, he yelled for her, weeping uncontrollably. Even his voice was small and weak again. This was no voice of a tall, grown man. It was a child's. Her melting hand flung out from the fire and grasped his shoulder, and that's when his eyes shot open…

Before him was Meat with tired, narrowed eyes, and off in the distance was the morning siren. Wailing like it should every morning.

"Hey mate, time to get up," Meat mumbled.

Gary sat up quickly, eyes shifting around the room. He felt sweaty.

"Man, you're one hell of a sleeper, Roach. How didn't you wake up from that _noise_?" Gary followed the voice to find Royce throwing on a clean pair of pants.

"Ugh, really deep sleep…and some odd dreams," he replied, rolling out of bed lazily.

Their room may have been full of movement, but it was very slothful, morning movement. Petey yawned, creating a perfect symbolism for the scene.

"Odd dreams? Yeah, me too…" Meat began while changing his shirt. A few others peered over at him with puffy, sleep-filled eyes. "Our Captain was the giant marshmallow-man from Ghostbusters," he shuddered, "_horrifying._"

"Ghostbusters?" One of the men questioned.

"Some older American movie," Meat answered.

Royce suddenly noticed something and shook his head. "We're running after breakfast guys, don't forget that." He began to put his boots on.

"Gah! You had to ruin the thought of breakfast with that comment." Petey complained, tripping on his hanging blankets. "Bastard."

"That's better than those lectures and courses we had to take in Selection…" Meat stated flatly.

"Well, it's true, I was just announcing what's to come," Royce replied, grabbing his toothbrush, "it's not like I'm making it happen."

Their light-hearted banter was interrupted. "Hurry up, boys. Thirty minutes to eat," Samuel snapped, while exiting with Hammerhead.

Petey sighed. "Those two…are such huge wankers. I tried talking to them last night, and that went over poorly."

"Yeah, Samuel's like the Grim Reaper of fun and merriment," Meat stated with a mouthful of toothpaste.

"Such a reaper…" Royce mumbled lowly.

The four men, and the remaining others (that they were still getting to know), finally finished up and left their dorm in a casual jog. All eight men moving along together. The moment they stepped out into the grey-hued atmosphere, they realized it had rained again and was still continuing to spit.

Their first thoughts immediately shifted to the idea of trying to jog in this. In some spots, it wasn't just plain water and sloppy mud, it was muck. The kind of stuff you step in and, in the process, lose a shoe forever. Then the worms found it necessary to wiggle their way out into the rising tinted sunlight. Worms and mucky water everywhere. It was a swamp. Even the smell of it steamed, and polluted the air with an ungodly amount of humidity. Breathing would also prove to be difficult. But this was the kind of weather that made it fun.

Breakfast for Gary didn't taste any different than the smoke in his dream. Why the hell was that? The entire framework of the dream was now scrapped into his memory like some sort of canyon within a deserted, barren wasteland. He ate his eggs quietly. In fact, most of the men ate their eggs quietly. Each man was too deep in thought to bother talking. This was the day it all started. The _actual_ Special Force action was going to start. Men were going to begin to show-off their talents and face-off in obstacle courses and training drills, not to mention, it was the day they would be meeting the Captains they were assigned with. The very same Captains they would run beside during life threatening missions.

All of it was based on performance in Selection and what exactly the individual was aiming for. Although, each man was now apart of the Special Forces, there were still different regiments. There's the mobility, air, mountain, and even boat troops, but then of course, there were the ones they liked a little bit of everything, and that's what the Task Force 141 had to offer. The Task Force was actually apart of the 21 and 23 S.A.S., but for some reason they found themselves with the 22 S.A.S., which they found confusing since it was never really explained. Still, everything was very precise and organized. Once you reached Selection, you had a 2 out of 25 chance of making it, in other words, only 10 out of 125 men would be chosen. And the ten men in Gary's dorm, although with different Captains, were of those ten selected men.

Gary's group also consisted of six men, that is, when it came to missions. The Captain, the second in command, and the four others who were picked specifically by the Captain, usually based on performances during training. And if one of those men fall, then another one fills his place within hours. So, even if Gary becomes great friends with every single one of his roommates, they'd still have to duke it out on the obstacle courses. After all, someone has to get that position, and Gary was in no lackadaisical state. He was a formidable force, and no one even knew it yet, except one man.

The very moment, Gary "Roach" Sanderson stepped off that bus, shoulders back and eyes shimmering, Ghost knew immediately that he would display astonishing talents. Ghost just couldn't wait to actually witness this, of course. But luckily for all of them. Today was day one of this moment in time, and it was also the first day that each man combating, even if they are best friends, will be glaring daggers into the other's soul. It was competition. Not only did you need to be physically strong, but mentally as well. Just because you can lift a boulder up over your head didn't mean they wanted you. A good pair of intelligence and common sense go greatly with a near flawless physique. Because after all, being smart wasn't just looked upon positively, it was a necessity to staying alive. It was a crude world Gary had joined, but nonetheless, no other place on Earth could offer such a chance at meeting some of the best men and enduring some of the best thrills life could offer. It was…like living in an adrenaline rush.

But the easy stuff was over, breakfast being one of them, and that was only reminded to all of them when one of the Captains stood at the front to speak.

"If I may have your attention, please," the man demanded, immediately receiving the room's full attention. The room was now hush and full of concentration. "I'm going to go through today's schedule. I expect each and everyone of you to listen _and_ remember what I say. We don't have enough time to recover the topics I already spoke about. Easy enough?"

The room echoed with a thunderous, "Yes, sir." It was enough to make your heart shake behind its safe encasement. Meat shivered with excitement.

"Good. So here's how it breaks down," he cleared his throat, "after breakfast, we will all meet in front of the 'A' Squadron base prepared to run five miles. A very simple warm-up routine. When you all get there, find your advisor and he'll tell you where to go from there." Gary was unable to find Ghost with his wondering eye. Where could he be? "After that session, you men will start your training, by beginning with core, upper and lower body exercises. We need you all in the best of shape. Once that is over, you'll be able to meet your Captains close to 1200 hours, where that will be followed by a brief lunch at 1230 hours.

"Once you've finished eating, you all will be _expected_ to meet up with your group for further training. _This_ is when the obstacles start. Remember, best man gets the position, so your friends are now your enemies. Work hard today, gentlemen." The man ceased his talking and allowed the men to finish up their remaining food and prepare themselves mentally. It had begun.

The crowd started to shift outside, and Roach and his group followed the current with a sense of adrenaline pumping into their veins. Outside, the rain had tapered off lightly, but it was no where near its finish line. It wasn't cold, but it was wet, _very_ wet. It was the kind of weather that made a person want to stay snuggled inside and watch movies all day long. But these were no group of normal men, in fact, they were specially hand-picked and afraid of nothing. They welcomed and challenged death.

Scanning through the crowd, Gary and the others could not find Simon Riley. Where was Ghost? They stood in their cluster, scoping the area with confused eyes, wondering where he could possibly be.

"Well," Petey began, scratching his neck, "this is convenient." His words hinted violently with sarcasm.

"I wonder where he's at…you don't think he got sick or anything? I'm sure he'd let us know, or something," Meat announced wide eyed.

Gary shook his head. "Nah, we all saw him last night. He appeared healthy enough."

"Maybe he got sick this morning," Jack murmured, being almost unheard.

Samuel huffed while weaving his arms together before his chest. "Real professional."

"Reaper…" Meat said while coughing.

Samuel leered at him with sharp blue eyes. "What was that?"

Meat answered with a simple grin.

But then something pulled their attention away from each other. It was a smoothly, accented voice that was all too familiar.

"You boys were supposed to find me, not the other way around."

They turned on their heels to face the voice, to be met with an image they were not expecting. It was a man with Simon Riley's same build, but his face was covered by a set of fire-orange sunglasses and a ski mask bearing a skeleton's face. The scene was rather spooky as he stepped forward in the rain, shoulders back.

Royce cocked his head. "Ghost?"

The mystery specter laughed. "Yes, that's the name, you muppet."

Now the nickname suddenly came together and made sense…with that mask in the foggy rain, and the way his eyes lay hidden behind those oddly piecing sunglasses, it was intimidating. It was cloudy and rainy, and the man could pull it off, _very_ well too.

"Shall we?" He gestured in the direction of the other groups, even though they would be taking their own route.

"After you," Petey replied.

"Good answer," Ghost said with that typical tone. If a man didn't know better, they would just assume Simon Riley was a huge ass, but it was really his sense of humor. The best way to handle it: have a comeback, and he'll love you forever.

He began walking through the mud with an eerie grace. "Set up into two parallel lines of five; I'll be staying at the front to lead you men, and what we're to do…ugh." His grace had suddenly been hampered, but not destroyed, as he heaved and glared down at his right boot. It was trapped within the confines of the muck. "Obviously, you wanna try avoiding these spots…" he ripped his foot free, "it would be unfortunate to twist an ankle on this day."

Ghost continued his pace, breathing heavily through his small nose as he looked over his shoulder to confirm their quick organization. "It's good to see you guys working well together already. Sure, you may be competing, but without teamwork, there would be no S.A.S." He shifted his covered head towards the front again. "But as I was saying…we're to stay together--duh--and run for five miles. That'll take less than an hour, perhaps nearly 45 to 50 minutes, and it's an easy run to ask out of you guys."

By the time he had finished his sentence he had lead them to the top of a hill, where the opening to the outside was located. "Let's begin." With that said, he began a moderate jog, where the men behind him mirrored his actions with ease. He would take them through the woods onto hidden trails, where it would be even _more_ muddy.

The sun was up by now, but it was hardly noticeable. The thick, grey clouds shrouded its warming rays with an almost spiteful anger. While they jogged, water and mud splashed freely into the air, dirtying their clothes and stubble-covered faces. Their shirts stuck to their well-trimmed bodies, creating another outlet for something else to find annoying.

During the morning jog, a few of them had already stepped into several rough spots, but none of them had any difficulty freeing themselves and continuing their paces without affecting another's. That is, until Petey, who was stuck in the middle of his line, brought his entire weight down with one foot, unaware of where it was to land. The area seemed harmless, but once his boot met the ground, it was like someone had taken his balance out from him and threw it aside.

At first, the dark-colored man appeared to be in control of the situation, but those chances of escaping were quickly diminished once his left foot had managed to become caught as well. His arms swayed, trying to regain the balance he had lost, and his back arched. The men in front were unaware of his sudden conflict and held their speed, but the ones behind him slowed down greatly, just in time to watch him face-plant in slow-motion.

Mud splattered up with the contact of his face and brown water seeped through his clothes, ruining all possibilities of having some dry spots. Meat's face reddened as he attempted to hold back the laughter that was building up fast…but that proved impossible to the lively man. Instead of resisting, he lunged forward, pointing an elongated finger, and laughed hysterically. This caused the ones in front to slow down slightly to stare at the cause of the commotion. Ghost ignored all of them and maintained his speed and hustle. But the ones in the back had come to a complete stop.

Meat may have laughed the loudest, but he wasn't the only one to snicker. Petey lifted himself from the mud, revealing a mud-covered…everything. Someone could have guessed him irritated, but they couldn't actually tell because the slop replaced his face. As if the mud wasn't bad enough, worms had also managed their way into the mess, and now hung from him like some sort of badly crafted fish bait.

"_Fuuuuck_," he groaned.

"You've got worms _all_ over you." Meat stated with that ever famous ear-to-ear smile.

"Nice…" one of the men said before sprinting after the ones they had fallen from.

"They're leaving us, c'mon men." Hammerhead announced while running past Petey and his embarrassment.

While the remaining sprinted ahead, Meat stepped forward to grab him from the entrapment. "Let's go, Wormy. We've got some catching up to do."

"Right," he agreed as he followed Meat with equal aliveness and wiped parts of his face clean.

He felt incredibly foolish…and soon found that 'Wormy' transcended into 'Worm' somehow before the end of their morning run. He had to roll his eyes. He wasn't expecting a name like 'Worm' to be given to him. But oddly, he kind of liked it. He was by far the most excited when the rain picked up. Feeling the mud melt from his skin also felt as if the humiliation was washing away as well. It felt wonderful.

* * *

End of this part. Since I've been loving this so much, the second part should be up soon. Doesn't take too long to type. I can spare an hour. Also...I noticed a story that was submitted 2 days after mine, and it's about the Task Force as well, but it's events BEFORE the game. I only read the first chapter, and I just hope the author doesn't steal any of my ideas in anyway...that's just rude! I'm not saying they will, which I doubt they would anyway, but if someone DOES notice like...maybe they steal my idea for nicknames, let me know or tell them to watch it. I sound paranoid, don't I? :D


	6. Training Day Part 2

Thank you all for the reviews! Sorry it took a bit to update. I got busy. Enjoy!

* * *

After their crisp, refreshing run through the mud, they had begun their workout. Crunches, sit-ups that require extra weight, wall-sits, push-ups and pull-ups of different fashions, then of course all the different kind of leg workouts you could think of. Ghost shouted words of encouragement at them as he walked and observed them. Their definition of encouragement was much different though. Yelling and intimidating them to do it better was their way of encouraging. But Roach loved every minute of it. He had never felt so fresh and alive like the way he did today. Anything was better than the 'normal' life he left behind, but this was paradise for him. Little did Gary know that he was performing the best out of the nine others. Ghost watched him closely and could see the young man had it in him to accomplish any sort of challenge that was thrown his way. Roach's eyes glistened.

"Put your back into it, ya bloody bugger!" Ghost hollered at Samuel as he passed him by.

Samuel gritted his teeth together. "Like to see you do it…" he complained under his breath. The words, unfortunately for him, didn't go unnoticed. Ghost stopped in his tracks to pace back towards Reaper and his smart mouth.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Ghost demanded, removing his sunglasses with a threatening litheness. Meat swallowed hard as he watched the scene unfold. Even _he_ was getting scared.

Reaper stopped his weighted sit-ups to sit up straight and return the stare. His stare wasn't nearly as deadly as Ghost's soul stabbing glare.

"I was just wondering," he paused to look at a distant object. Anything was better than those metallic-blue orbs that could scare the Devil himself. "Why aren't you doing this with us? Show us how to do it the 'right' way." His words were sour and they had everyone freeze up with silence. Meat glanced at Royce with his mouth parted and his eyes opened widely.

"Is that what you want?" Ghost backfired.

Samuel was beginning to crumble. "Uh," was his weakened reply.

"Alright then, let's go," Ghost smacked the back of Reaper's head and took a seat in front of him. "Don't gawk like a bunch of confused muppets! Keep working!" He yelled and waved at the others who still stared. Instantly, they returned to their exercise with little delay.

Ghost turned back to face Reaper. "Give me your legs," they locked ankles together, "and one of those weights." He pointed over Samuel's shoulder where several unused weights laid. Reaper reached and handed the determined man a weight. "We'll all stop in five minutes, push your hardest," Ghost said while readjusting his wristwatch. "Go."

Once those words slipped passed his lips both men began doing sit-ups in perfect unison. They were fast, and completing each rough lift with ease. They made it look easy as they kept their pace. But once the time reached three minutes, Samuel began to taper off.

"Push harder, you wanker!" Ghost shouted loudly. The man was angry, you could see it in his eyes that were staring intensely through lowered brows. Reaper's face was getting red with sweat and exhaustion, but he was no where near quitting.

Meat grunted from his area, "This is beginning to sting."

"No pain, no gain," Royce commented.

Meat pondered to himself momentarily before speaking. "I have to pee."

As much as it hurt, Roach had to laugh. He found the entire situation hilarious. While Ghost was challenging Reaper to a hardcore sit-up duel, Meat was complaining about how badly his bladder hurt.

Gary continued his painful exercise, knowing it was nearly over, and peered up towards the ceiling where his eyes had stopped halfway. It was the man from the mess hall last night. The one with the cunning eyes and trimmed Mohawk. He was watching them, a brilliant smile spreading across his face as he observed Ghost and his intolerance. Roach questioned the man's importance. His attention was quickly pulled away by Ghost's shouting voice.

"Don't slow down on me, Dickson!" He yelled thunderously. He was like a Greek god… of sit-ups, and they were the kind of sit-ups that made your stomach muscles cry in pain.

Just when Reaper thought his stomach couldn't bear it anymore, the wristwatch beeped. A bunch of men sighed with relief and fell onto their backs.

"There, that wasn't so hard." Ghost stood up, leaving the weight behind, and held out his hand for Reaper to take. The man accepted and allowed Ghost to lift him up. "Listen, next time any of you want to question me and my actions, feel free to do it, but there will be a consequence. I've been doing this for seven years, I' m here to train you." He smoothly slid his sunglasses back on, keeping his eyes on the panting Samuel. "Alright?"

"Yes sir," Samuel replied.

Meat was sprawled out on the floor, where Worm just watched him indifferently, before he sat up quickly with something important on his mind. He shot an arm into the air, grabbing Ghost's attention.

"Mr. Simon Riley Ghost, sir," he said, "may I rush to the restroom?"

"Urgent?" Ghost questioned.

"I would label it as 'urgent', yes."

Ghost jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Go." Meat followed through by running off towards the lavatory located on the opposite side of the hanger. Ghost rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess we will have to wait for the block head to return," he lifted his chin up high, "and when he does, we can start crunches."

"Oh…yes," Worm said to himself flatly. His American accent stuck out amongst the others. Except for Reaper's and Hammerhead's; they bore the same American flag as well.

With a Special Operations group such as the Task Force, you not only take on some of the most ruthless missions, you are continuously in a joint-operation, working with others from other countries. So faces change constantly, but it was also an odd kind of melting pot. You trained and ran along side an American one day, then a Scotsman the next. It was diversity at its finest.

Meat returned with a questionable swiftness. He had gone extremely fast, his absence had barely been noticed.

"You wash your hands?" Royce inquired with a raised lip.

Meat looked to him. "Sorta," was his answer.

"What does 'sorta' imply?" Worm wondered.

Ghost began talking them through their next set of exercises and expectations.

"Water only," Meat smiled only to receive a blank stare from all who had an eye on him.

So, for the next several hours, the men gave it there all with few water breaks. The only way men like these would improve was to deprive them of essentials. Three water breaks was enough, especially in the eyes of Ghost, who had way too many stories to tell for a man his age. It was also easy for him to become agitated with anyone who looked relaxed or not even slightly in pain. His shouts continued through the day, with that hidden sense of sarcasm, and they didn't cease until a certain noise had had them turning their heads.

It was mild claps of amusement. Someone was clapping their hands with a slow rhythm. For some reason, the noise had sounded so outlandish to them that they all peered over with curious, widened eyes. Roach's breath stopped short out of surprise once he saw whose hands were emitting the sound.

The hands belonged to the mystery man with the brown maple colored hair. His eyes were a sharp, frosty blue, surrounded by dark lashes. A 5 o' clock shadow framed his wide, white smile and hid his cleft chin. But the thing that stuck out the most from his unique character was the deep scar that cut through his left brow. It stretched over his lid lightly, but continued its wretched path down to his upper cheek. Battle scars. They each had a story to tell, and that one was screaming for an audience. Roach was intrigued.

"Nicely done, Ghost. You have these men putting on quite the show for me." He spoke deeply. By the looks of him, you'd think he was lacking a vocabulary, but his Scottish-accented voice proved that wrong.

Ghost's face probably crunched up, if anyone could have actually have seen his face, as he pulled his wrist up before his face. "Huh, it really is noon already…good to see you, sir. And on time, I see."

"I never miss a beat," was the strong man's reply as he stepped closer to Ghost's side.

The men had sub-consciously gathered around before the man as they observed his movements closely. He turned briskly on his heels to face them, with an almost unnoticeable smile plastered on his defined face. Ghost spookily turned his head in harmony with the man. Roach suddenly was hit with a realization. This man was their Captain, he could see it in his intelligent eyes.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he spoke, interrupting the stillness. The ten men returned the gesture. "It's the moment we've all been eagerly waiting for, so, I'll start by introducing myself." He cleared his throat as he removed his arms out from behind his back. "I'm Captain MacTavish, from here on out, you'll be taking orders from me. I don't run shifts with an iron fist, but I do expect you to show signs of respect, not only towards Ghost and I, but each other as well. All I ask from you is to work your arses off and really show me that you want to come out on top, because what we do not only requires the best, it demands it." He lightly punched his fist into his left palm and quickly followed through by pointing a finger towards the group of attentive men.

"And I can tell by the look on some of your faces that you truly want to be here. Unfortunately, I can only see it in about 4 of you," his eyes found Roach's. "But I know that number will quickly change by the end of the week, eh?"

"Yes, sir!" Was the loud reply from all men. They were on their toes today, and MacTavish's words were captivating. His voice was one of those voices a person enjoyed listening to.

He smiled and rocked onto his toes. "Wonderful. Now there's a few topics I'd like to cover before you men head off to lunch, and of course, I'll cover any questions, but I still want to go over a few things and get your names." He paused to observe the many different expressions on their faces as he walked over to the left end of the group. "Let's start with you."

"Jack Damon, sir," Jack answered indifferently.

"Any other names?"

"No sir, not as of now,"

"Hmm, we'll have to fix that soon," the Captain turned his head to the next man.

"Call me Hammerhead, sir,"

MacTavish narrowed his eyes. "Real name?"

"Brian Welch."

When he cycled through the group and reached Meat, he eyed him momentarily with inquiring eyes. The look had Meat's heart race.

"The name's Ben Harwood, Captain. But you can--"

"Meat, right?"

"Wha--?" The look on Meat's face shifted from calmness to pure confusion.

"You are Meat, right?"

Meat snapped back into reality. "Oh, yes, sir, I am. How did you--"

The Captain chuckled softly. "Well, Ghost told me about you of course."

His face went pale and his mouth fell flat. He stared dumbly before his eyes shifted towards Ghost, who was standing humorously. "You really told him?"

"I'm a man of my word." Ghost replied.

Meat sighed heavily as his shoulders slump.

"Relax, you gave me a good laugh. Sometimes those can be hard to come by, especially with all of the war." MacTavish assured. Meat rolled an imaginary object around in his mouth, still feeling embarrassed.

The Captain returned to the introduction and now found himself staring into the smart, deep brown eyes of Gary Sanderson. MacTavish smiled mentally at the young man's image. His confident posture and the facial expression that says, "I won't take 'no' for an answer."

Gary was quick to respond. "Gary Sanderson, sir."

"Not anymore," Worm said from his end.

MacTavish found the owner of the voice and asked, "Why's that?"

"He's Roach now." Worm leaned forward to view Gary better, and revealed a teasing, friendly smile. Gary return a small smile back.

"Roach, eh? I'm curious now…" The Captain said while rubbing his rugged chin.

"Big, nasty roach crawled out of his bag yesterday." Meat announced.

"Big? And nasty?" MacTavish asked with hints of light-heartedness flowing through his words.

"Big and nasty." Royce even had to comment.

"Yes…and that's how I got the name." Gary said while rolling his eyes.

"Huh," the man pondered this, a smile spreading across his face, "well, welcome to the Task Force, Roach. You'll love it here." He patted Roach on the shoulder and moved on. Gary liked the man, but…he thought he saw something veiled by his eyes, like he was hiding something. A troubled past, perhaps. With a scar like that, anything was possible.

Within a few moments, names had been said and remembered and they were already beginning to move on.

"Alright, it's a pleasure to be on a first-name basis. Now before I go onto answering questions I must say one thing: each and every one of you is like a brother now. You look out after each other," while he talked, his words became incredibly passionate, "because, unfortunately, the man standing next to you right now could be dead by the end of the month, and we do _not_ want that. As a Captain, I can't bear to see my men fall, but it happens, and it can't always be avoided. You may hate each here, but out on the field…he's your best friend. Understand?" The men answered with nods and 'yes, sirs'. "Good, now…the next thing I have to ask is if any of you have questions." He looked through the crowd, receiving unmoving stares. "Don't be afraid or embarrassed to ask questions. I know some feel like they may already know the book like the back of their hand, but you'd be surprised by what you don't know. I can be your best pal when you need me to be, but also your leader and Captain when the time calls. So…questions?" He scanned the area and was immediately hit with mild disappointment.

"Nothing, really?"

Suddenly, Meat's arm shot into the air. MacTavish gave him a blissful stare. "Yes?"

Meat lowered his arm and began talking with his hands. "Call me stupid for not knowing, but when can we hold a gun? I've been waiting since Selection, and I'm ready to use one again."

"That's not a dumb question at all, Meat, and to answer that question," he paused and looked towards Ghost briefly before continuing, "is tomorrow." A few disappointed sighs; they had hoped for the answer, 'today'. "Tomorrow marks the day we'll be testing your gun skills. Assault rifles, such as M4A1 carbines and ACR's, some sub-machine guns, and of course, side-arms; side-arms being M9's and USP .45's."

Reaper got his attention by raising a hand. MacTavish nodded his head towards him. "What will we cover today?"

"Ah yes," he began, "we wanna see how well you men can run some courses. I'd also like to check your hand-to-hand combat skills, but…that pretty much covers it. Anything else?"

There was a hushed silence before Jack had built up enough courage to ask a question he'd been wondering about since the day they arrived.

"Yes, I've got one," he waited for the Captain's approval. "When do we get to use a phone?" When those words spilled out into the open, a few others agreed enthusiastically with the question.

"Want to check in on the family?" He asked.

Jack looked down at the ground shyly. "Well, yes, that and…" he shifted in his place, "well…my girlfriend--"

"Oh…your lover." MacTavish shined that bright smile. Jack's face was starting to flush. "You guys get phone privileges after dinner. Phone access last for an hour and each man can only have a phone for ten minutes. That answer your question?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wonderful…well," MacTavish peered at his watch, "looks like you guys got close to ten minutes to spare before lunch. As much as I shouldn't…I'm dismissing you early. I'd like to talk to Ghost about something."

They all loved the sound of that, and showed it by exhaling briskly.

So, that was how the day unfolded. The group of men all ate lunch and returned on time to start their obstacles and close-quarters combat. For the rest of the day, they did just that. Working their tails off non-stop, while streams of sweat coursed down their necks and everywhere else.

Roach, at first, shrugged off a certain uneasiness, but he could manage it no longer when he finally determined what they were doing. Ghost and Captain MacTavish had been watching him _very_ closely throughout the day. At some points, he felt as if they were singling him out of the group, as if it was just him on the field. He wondered what they were thinking…

* * *

Ok, things will take a turn next chapter. I can promise that.


	7. Bad News First

As always, I appreciate the reviews greatly :) Also, I'd like to apologize for anyone who has this story on alert. I saw some typos that I couldn't live with, so I went back and fixed them. That's all that was.

* * *

For the next few days, the men trained fervently and enthusiastically. Within several days, they'd be seeing the real action. Most of the men, when dinner time came rolling around, eagerly called home to families and lovers, all except for Roach. He saw no real need to check in on anyone…so why bother? From time to time, he had hoped for some signs of being missed, but he didn't receive any, at least until day three of their training showed up on the calendar.

Shortly after Roach had finished his meal, he threw his extra shirt over his shoulder and stood from his seat to return to the dorm. He was tired, but was in the mood for some good fashioned rugby. Meat, Royce, Worm, and Jack had declared a rugby war against the other five men, and he wasn't about to miss that. He also was looking forward to be amused by Worm and his lacking in rugby knowledge. Watching the foolish newbie will be entertainment at its best.

Roach had made it out of the mess hall, using his empty hand to pat the side of his leg, and began heading up the hill. It wasn't until he heard Ghost's voice that had him snapping back into reality and away from his thoughts.

"I've been looking for ya, mate. I'm glad I caught you. You have a minute?" Ghost asked. He had his sunglasses off and was staring vacantly. Roach, for some rare reason, couldn't read the meaning of his words, so he felt uneasy providing an answer.

"Yeah, I have a minute," he replied, bringing his arms down to his sides, "…is there something wrong?"

Ghost closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side, almost like a child. "Not at all. You just have a phone call. One of the operators down there has been receiving calls. He says one of them who called was asking for you, she's on the phone now."

Roach could only angle his head out of bewilderment, his eyes narrowing. "She?"

"Yes."

"Well," he felt at a loss of words, "do you have a name?"

Ghost took a moment in silence to blink thoughtfully. "I believe the operator said 'Alison' , but I might be mistaken."

Immediately, Gary's face went red out of a baffling build-up of shock. "What, Alison?" he inquired loudly, his movements becoming fidgety. "What the hell--"

Roach ran off in the direction of the barrack that held the phones inside. Ghost watched him curiously with his blue eyes.

Gary felt an odd mixture of joy and discomfort. Surely the operator had mistaken…but deep down, he was wishing the man hadn't. He slammed open the door, surprising himself with his uncalled for strength as it swung open and rebounded off the doorstopper. If he hadn't had been rushed with a barrage of emotions, he might have found the whole doorstopper thing a bit humorous, but there was no time for that. A few heads looked up at the sudden blast of noise, but quickly found the man's entrance unimportant and returned to their conversations.

He stopped to look around. Ghost hadn't been too specific with which phone booth it was…so there he stood, frozen by delirium. _Bollocks!_ he thought as he tapped his foot.

"I think it's this one, Roach," said a familiar voice.

Roach followed the sound to find Captain MacTavish on the other end. His Captain gestured his head towards the phone booth off to his left.

"Captain MacTavish…I--" Gary stuttered.

MacTavish smiled gently. "Don't mind me, mate. Go ahead and take your call." After those words passed his thick lips, he returned to the conversation with another one of the Captains, who was propped uncaringly up against a wall.

Roach strode past his Captain and towards the desk with the secluded phone laying apathetically on its side. His hand hovered over the contraption, fingers twitching, as he began to relive a vertigo of memories. He was too absorbed in the scene to even notice his Captain that watched him mindfully out of the corner of his eye.

Then, while holding his breath, he grabbed the phone and brought the receiver to his ear.

"…Hello?" He spoke softly.

"Gary?" came a voice that had his mouth parting and his heart stop.

Roach's eyes fell onto the floor as he licked his lips. "Yeah, this is him."

Time seemed to morph into an unending dilemma as he waited in silence. "Gary…it's Alison."

He noticed his fist was balling up. "Alison, you--how did you know where to call?" He was in no conversing mood. She hurt him. Badly. He was not one to be known for handing out second chances.

"It was in the letter they sent you," she replied with her gentle voice, that he actually loved to hear. "So, I just used the contact information. It wasn't too hard, I'm just glad I--"

"Why are you calling me?" He interrupted her with a venomous hiss. His last sentence had came out unnaturally loud, due to his frustration, and it only provoked another set of stares.

"Gary, I--" she trailed off before releasing a soft sigh, "I called to apologize. That was no way to say 'goodbye'; I cannot justify my actions."

"No, you can't, what you did, it--"

"I know, it hurt. I guess I was just too upset, I didn't want you to leave…I wasn't ready for that."

His once boiling anger was dispersing fast, and he was quickly crumbling. She was making him feel weak with her genuine apology.

"You knew it's what I wanted."

"Gary, I know this, _I_ wanted you to be happy. But, when you told me that, I--I panicked."

He had to snicker roughly. "Is that why you got freaky with Andy?"

"I didn't get freaky with him, Gary!"

"That's not what he said."

She exasperated, "Gar, Andy over-exaggerates everything."

He was quick to backfire, "I know that, but let's be honest for a minute, Alison. You know what you did was wrong, and that's why you did it--"

"Gary--"

"--because you were pissed that I was leaving. So you did what you did, in hopes I would panic and stay, but in reality," he took a breath, "I was bloody happy to be out of there."

His words stung like the malicious bite of a serpent.

"Gary…you don't mean that," she gasped.

"Oh, no. I do."

They both sat quietly, only Alison was devitalized and Gary was blatantly riled.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she spoke meekly.

Gary was quick on his feet to give a sarcastic reply, "I'm sorry, why'd you call again?"

"I already told you, Gar. I wanted to apologize."

He exhaled heavily. "Know what, let's drop it. I don't want to talk about it any longer, I have a rugby game to catch."

"Gary…"

He allowed himself to rub his temples with his free hand, washing away some of the raging headache.

"I have to go. I'm sorry everything turned out the way it did, I truly am." With those words being said, he hung up the phone and turned on his heels to exit, still keeping his left hand near his face. His strong fingers continued to massage the sides of his head.

He found it utterly amazing how stress could build up so fast. It was so easy to make a person cry or angry, but it took effort to make them smile and joyful. He didn't know why, and it bothered him. Alison's actions alone had him weary and depressed, but it took three days of running through rain, mud, and sweat to make him feel new again.

He hadn't hit the bottom yet, but he was close, in fact, very close. It was going to take another day of bad news and strife to make him completely feel lost and hopeless again. It was the kind of man he was: very sensitive to his surroundings, and his intuition was sharp, but also vulnerable.

As he ambled past his Captain, he couldn't muster the energy to look him in the eyes. His Captain had very probing eyes, the kind that when they locked onto a man, he felt his very soul being read. They weren't unfriendly eyes, just very smart. MacTavish's crystal-blue eyes were difficult to maintain eye contact with, because, not only could he see into a man's soul with them, it was like they could see into _his_. Gary still couldn't put a finger on it, and he was in no state to face them now, but he knew they were watching.

MacTavish was indeed watching him, but only out of concern. Something had really troubled the young man, and the way Roach slouched as he left the building only confirmed it.

*******

Day five came fast. Roach and the others were blindsided by the date, especially Meat, who popped out of bed one morning, shouting about when the 'real action started'. They all knew it would be soon, but they couldn't tell when. The Russians were always doing something new, something that required immediate British or American attention. It was rough, kind of like riding the rocky flow of a brutal landslide. Deadly and unpredictable. Makarov was one slick, sneaky bastard, not only that, he was smart.

But those thing might as well have been irrelevant and childish, because MacTavish and his men were still stuck in the mud at Credenhill. It was still entertaining and exhilarating, but it wasn't what they wanted.

Unfortunately, Roach very rarely got what he wanted. It usually was the polar-opposite of what he wanted. He preferred good news first. Listen to the facts that make you cheerful on the inside, and deal with the other shit later. And day five for him was just another one of those obnoxious reminders.

It was nearing 6:45 P.M., and Gary found himself standing in the room with the phones again. Ghost had pulled him aside to inform him that, for a second time, he had a caller waiting. Only this time, Roach hadn't asked for a name, he just assumed it was Alison calling for him again so he stormed off.

Before picking up the lifeless phone he had to exhale a huge gasp of breath, allowing his nerves to calm. He cracked his knuckles and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

There was incoherent sobbing on the other end. "Gary?"

"Yeah?"

"Oh my God, Gary! I-I…" He suddenly recognized the crying woman's voice. It was his younger sister, and she was hysterical.

"Amy?" He was hit by a truck of emotions. "I can't understand you, calm down."

"It's mom…she-she's dead, Gary."

He stiffened up. He saw this day coming, he knew it would, but he hadn't predicted it would have been as soon as this. Then he remembered that dream. It was like biting into rotten fruit. The taste in his mouth became pungent and slimy. His dreams always knew how to show him things, but he always ignored them, because in all honesty, he was afraid of them.

"…When?"

"This morning, I tried calling, but the line was disconnected or something."

He shook his head, mostly because he was surprised by his reaction. The man was _not_ sad, he was annoyed. Man. Angry. Confused. Again, he found himself in a corner.

Gary talked to his sister briefly about the events that had occurred, and it eventually led up to Amy asking a bold question.

"Are-are you coming back home for the funeral?"

He instantly had an answer. "No, I can't leave here, Amy. I practically belong to the S.A.S. now."

"I understand, Gary…one more thing," she was almost down to a soft whisper, "mom wanted me to tell you that she loves you."

So Gary was left pondering many things as he sulked back to the dorms. He passed up the fields, ignoring the lively sounds of his comrades playing through the grass with a ball. He figured the best antidote to this overbearing poison was a fresh game of football (soccer) or rugby, but his legs suddenly felt like Jell-o.

Instead of socialization, Roach went with the cynical route. There was no bright green grass or the ear-to-ear grin of Meat's comical face, just the floor and his bed.

His eyes stayed fixed to the grey floor while his hands hung lifelessly in between his knees. For the past five days there had been this lingering haze that splashed a sea of dreary grey onto the wet palette that was Credenhill. Gary felt as if the whole world had been swallowed up by the lurking fog, as if he could never escape its clutches. Even a paradise wasn't far enough away from its grasp. But this place was his paradise. Outside this world was a sea of lies and deceit, everything was fake. But in here, it _was_ what it was. No undertones or false hopes. Just as simple as that.

He cheered up vaguely with the recollection of where his new home was, but it wasn't enough to get his head up.

To think, first Alison now the news of his mother's death. The past five years may not had been full of pleasant memories, but the expand of his life was. His mother had been a good mother. Always on time and present for his football games and practices, and not once was she unsupportive (until the cancer hit). Birthdays were the best. With each year he grew older, she provided the _best_ homemade cake a person could ask for. Delicious wasn't a strong enough word to describe it, but as he thought about it, no word was.

It was all a shame, that the previous five years of his life had nearly replaced those remarkable memories. It took the death of his once lively mother to collect and breath life into them once again. Life wasn't a bitch, it was just unpredictable, and Gary believed that anyone who thought the other just didn't know how to live.

A disruptive noise had him craning his neck towards door. In the doorway was his Captain tapping his knuckles against the doorframe. Somehow, the man had managed to enter the dorm without Roach even noticing. For such a large man, he sure was lithe. In the dimly lit room he could still see Captain MacTavish's metallic-blue eyes. He found them intimidating at the moment and wanted to avoid them as best as he could.

"I'm surprised I found you inside, Roach. Everyone else was outside, figured you'd be too…you mind?" His Captain gestured for the permission to enter.

Roach nodded with heavy lids. "Not at all, sir."

MacTavish stepped in with a light-footed tread. Again, his subtly surprised Roach.

"I typically don't bother my men during their breaks, after all, you guys get plenty of me throughout the day--"

"You're not bothering me, sir." By now, MacTavish was in a low-talk distance. Up close, Roach could feel his thick aura absorbing all energy around it.

"Good, because it's about your performance."

Roach didn't like his tone. It made his mouth dry. The way they rolled off his tongue were very questionable. Then, when the eloquent man pulled up a chair, Roach only became even more ill at ease. Anything wouldn't surprise him at this point. Was his Captain disappointed and going to tell him to pack up his bags? Was his about to be ridiculed for a poor output?

Roach summoned up some courage and took a breath. "…Is it bad?"

By now, MacTavish was facing him, sitting backwards in the chair with the back of it in between his spread legs. MacTavish's brown eyebrows raised and he flashed a white smile.

"Far from it, mate," came the reply. Roach could release some of the stress and anxiety, but the questioning was still present. What could the Captain want from him? "How confident are you in yourself?"

The inquiry came as a surprise. "Uh, I wouldn't say I'm self-conscious," his Captain gave him a certain look that had him changing his mannerisms, "but without sounding conceited, I believe I have what it takes."

"Good. Because Ghost and I have been keeping an eye on you, and we've both been incredibly impressed. You're skills…are far better than the others, and it's bluntly obvious."

Roach grinned brilliantly. He wasn't one for cheesy moments, but the amount of joy that had busted from inside was far too overwhelming. "Wow, you have my thanks. I-I can't believe it."

MacTavish gave him a hard pat on the shoulder. "Well, start pinching yourself, because this is real." He paused briefly to ponder. "How much do you like the mountains?"

"Mountains?" Roach was baffled but awed.

"You better like them, because that's where we're going."

"We? As in the Task Force?" Roach asked thoughtfully.

Captain MacTavish shook his head. "Nope. Just the two of us."

Roach froze with an utter disbelief. Surely he was misunderstanding something. "Wait, you and me? In the mountains?"

MacTavish had to chuckle. "Yes, the Tian Shan Range in Kazakhstan to be more precise. There's a Russian fueling depot up there, and located there is a crashed satellite of their's. Headquarters is finding their actions with the thing to be a bit sketchy, and they want it destroyed, so they're sending some men. That's where we come in."

"You're selecting me over Ghost?"

He kept his sharp stare on him. "You bet. I know how Ghost functions, I understand his techniques out on the field of battle. But you," he pointed a long finger at him, "I haven't seen you on thin ice yet, and I believe, this is my chance to see you shine. What do ya say?"

Roach would have responded immediately if it hadn't been for his sudden sense of shock. He could _not_ even comprehend that his Captain was specifically selecting him out of a group of very talented men. He was flattered.

"Hell yes, sir. I'd love to."

MacTavish gave Roach a warm smile and began to rise from his turned chair. "That's what I wanna hear. Two days is when we leave. Two days until we'll be in the frozen Tian Shan Range. Don't forget your ice climbing gear, 'cause you'll _definitely_ be needing it up there."

_Two days_, Roach thought to himself. His heart continued to race. Words alone could not describe his thrill. He felt like a giddy, little child again, and he was not even remotely ashamed. The recent tragic events were already washing away with the tide the day had brought.

Just when Roach thought his Captain's mind was completely set on leaving, his mind-reading eyes suddenly flickered.

"You doing alright, Roach? You look kinda…flustered."

Roach looked up towards his suddenly concerned Captain and found his eyes. Immediately, his cerulean eyes locked onto their target and would not allow Gary to turn away.

There was no point in lying. The man would know anyway, so Roach did what he does best, and he told the truth. "Actually, I am a bit flustered, but nothing I can't live with."

"What happened?"

_How does he seem to know?_

"My mum…she died today."

His Captain's posture changed drastically. "Roach," he breathed through his nose heavily, "I'm sorry."

Roach shook his head from side to side, shoulders shrugging. "Don't be, she's had cancer for five years…unfortunately, I saw it coming. So, like I said, it's nothing I can't handle."

MacTavish pushed on the inside of his cheek with his tongue, eyebrows furrowed. "Well, if you say so. Rest her soul. Don't let your tide change on me."

"It won't, sir." Roach nodded and smiled lightly to confirm his content.

"Alright, you have a goodnight, mate."

Roach bounced on the balls of his feet. "You too, sir."

With the sound of the door closing behind his Captain, he fell into his bed, back first, and sprawled out. The dream is starting.

* * *

The next chapter is the Cliffhanger mission! Woohoo, finally!


	8. Cliffhanger Day 1

Alright, I was intending on making _Cliffhanger_ a one chapter event...but as I started typing it, it turned into a much longer chapter. And I didn't want to submit an over 6,000 word chapter for you guys to read...so day one is just covering the part we didn't get to see in the game. Not much detail, but it fills in the holes. Also, thanks again for the reviews/alerts/favs :)

* * *

"Thirty seconds," announced the pilot through the radios in their ears.

Captain MacTavish pulled his goggles over his eyes, taking a few steps forward, spiked boots clicking, and nodded in Roach's direction. Roach mimicked him with a watchful eye. The chilling wind came pouring through the hatch as it eased open. It was a brutal, biting gust, that whipped their gear and faces with an unforgiving force. Looking through the end of the chopper had Roach's strong heart race and pound with excitement. The view was beautiful, it had him shivering with glee. The jagged mountains were laced with shimmering snow and pristine ice, almost like something from a fairytale set in a winter-wonderland. The sun reflected off the white frost with devastatingly blinding rays, while frozen air picked up snow and swirled it about like dancers at a ball.

MacTavish stepped towards the hanging hatch and motioned for Roach to follow. He was being incredibly fatherly, and it had Roach surprised because he hadn't displayed these traits until now.

A bright red light by the top of the hatch's opening hummed and gleamed intensely.

"Fifteen seconds," came the scratchy, informative voice.

Stepping closer to the drop-off only reddened their cheeks and noses more. The weather was callous and far much more foreign than anything Gary had ever experienced in his life time. He supposed that there was a first for everything.

"10 seconds," the countdown began.

The two geared men began to inspect and review their equipment with their gloved hands, patting their sides and tightening their vests and belts.

"5, 4..."

"See you on the bottom. Good luck, mate." His Captain stated with an almost inaudible voice. His spiked feet neared the edge as he opened his arms up at his sides like a bird ready to take flight.

"2, 1..." the light shifted to green and, just like they had practiced routinely, dove out of the chopper as if it was in their nature.

Free-falling for Roach was one of the best experiences he had ever encountered. Even the negative degree temperatures lashing at his untrimmed face weren't bothersome enough to ruin the butterflies in his core. If it hadn't been for the anti-fog spray they had drenched their goggles with, he'd be blind by now.

"Get ready to release, remember, this snow is deep, your landing may be a bit sloppy." MacTavish broadcasted, after a few seconds of falling, into his radio underneath the gear covering his rugged face.

Within seconds, they both pulled on their parachutes, MacTavish a bit before Roach, and were pulled upwards by the wind. Their feet stretched out in front of their torsos as they neared the ground with a quickened tempo towards a cliff they hadn't noticed.

"Bloody hell…release your vest, now!" MacTavish ordered as he tugged on the side of his gear, freeing himself of the parachute that had guided him towards the deadly drop-off of the mountain. He landed nearly waist-deep into the snow and balanced himself out with his arms. The parachute flew over his head and veiled him like a weeping willow in the spring while his vest plummeted into the snow before him.

Roach yanked on the release mechanism, but, go figure, it was stuck. He pulled again. Nothing.

"Shit," he panted.

Captain MacTavish hadn't heard his right-hand man make a landing, so he flung the fabric of the parachute aside and gazed up with worry.

"Roach, release it, now."

"It's stuck," he replied, trying to keep his cool as he continued to fiddle with the now seemingly broken object. Roach was too preoccupied to have noticed just how close he was to gliding over the end of the cliff and over the side towards God knows where. His Captain began bounding through the snow with as much strength he could muster.

"Pull the emergency--damn it!" He shouted after Roach.

Roach's mind clicked with realization as he rummaged and felt around on his vest for the emergency release. His hands shook with panic and adrenaline, hampering his mental capabilities and rendering him with almost zero common sense. His feet ran in mid-air as he reached for the ground, that was teasingly close. If he had just been an inch or two taller…

He held his breath once his hand finally seized the emergency release, but before he could tug on the string, the breath he had held within his lungs and been suddenly forced out of him. It was like getting hit in the back by a moving vehicle. Surprising while applying just enough force to whiplash him forward without actually doing any damage. He hadn't had any clue as to what it was, but it had prevented him from zooming over the side of the mountain.

He landed face first into the snow, nearly 2-3 feet from the edge, as the parachute glided over his head and hit the side of the cliff. The momentum of the soaring parachute carried him several inches but the sudden force that had had him planted into the snow to begin with held him in place. Using his shaking arms he lifted himself from the freezing snow and realized the moving vehicle was actually his Captain, who had sprung at him like a preying tiger and subsequently prevented his unwanted descend over the side.

"Too close for comfort, mate. You alright?" MacTavish inquired while shifting his light blue eyes in Roach's direction. His voice was mad calm for a man who had almost fell to his death.

Roach couldn't find his voice, but instead, nodded in reply.

"Damn pilots…looks like they didn't calculate that drop-off too well." He declared while bringing himself up, snow falling loosely from his gear. "Here, let's get you up so you can help me gather up these parachutes. We'll need them for later tonight." He offered a wide-palmed hand for Roach to take.

Roach accepted gratefully and was lifted almost carelessly by his Captain. He began to wonder just how strong the man was. Being tackled by his Captain was by far the most shocking thing that had occurred to Roach in the Task Force so far. It topped Alison, the death of his mother, and even being invited in person by his Captain to this suicide mission. It was just so mind-blowing and, as time went on, rather painful. Sure, his life had been saved by Captain MacTavish, which made Roach wonder if the man had even displayed his full strength, but the amount of force that was applied was rather ruthless.

While they rolled up the parachutes, one of which being more difficult than the other since it hung mockingly over the side, a sudden radio transmission came through.

"This is HQ, we have your current location updated and see you landed safely--" MacTavish had to laugh, "--we're sending a chopper unit to drop the rest of your equipment off in a location a klick to the east. It's red, so you can't miss it. HQ out."

"Roger that." MacTavish replied deeply. He looked to Roach who was hunched over the parachutes thoughtfully. "Once we've finished this we'll start heading over to the destination."

With his words being said, they completed the task quietly, a sniff here and there. Roach could literally feel the fluid from his nose beginning to freeze, not only that, but the sparse snowflakes actually stuck and froze to his eyebrows and lashes. It was an aggravating sensation. He only hoped his Captain hadn't caught on, because already, his possible chance at shining had been dulled down by the recent incident. Roach was glad the climate hid his blush.

Once they finished rolling the parachutes up and storing them away, the two men began heading east through the snow, capering along like a bunch of devious artic foxes. Finding their supply was a faster way of saying finding food, guns, climbing gear, and anything else that was required on the mission. Roach was anticipating the challenges and obstacles, but he wasn't fully confident in himself and his ability to overcome the road blocks these frozen mountains would throw at them. He knew his Captain would have no problem dodging and hurdling his way through, but…this was his first real experience, and he hoped beginner's luck was a real thing and not just a myth.

Traveling through the frost-bitten mountain was a quelling experience. It was quaint, and defined 'secluded' in a new sense. Their only company were the spruces, the Argali sheep, and of course, each other. There was few exchanging of words, but they were meaningful and important. There wasn't too much to converse about, Roach had already been given a briefing of the mission from his Captain. It was quite simple really: just recently the Russian Ultranationalists had retrieved a crashed American satellite and were intending on hacking into the system and, ultimately, discovering intel the Americans had _not_ wanted in the hands of their warring enemy. So, the Americans had requested immediate action, thus, resulted in the S.A.S. sending in a few of their best. 'A few' being, two men from the Task Force 141. Their goal was to destroy the satellite and all data inside, locate and retrieve an ACS module, and leave the fueling depot alive.

Not too difficult…if you were Captain MacTavish, with a flawless ambience and a nature for this kind of danger. But, Roach was Roach, the new guy, only a Sergeant. Sure, he was quick and precise, but he hadn't been put to the test yet. He was valiant and prepared, but he was uncertain of the results. Only time could tell.

When they climbed over an incline, the red packages came into view. They were smothered into the snow, but nonetheless, stuck out like sore thumbs within the sea of white.

"Ah, right where HQ said they would be. First for everything, eh?" MacTavish said through the wiping wind. Before Roach could even lend a reply, his Captain placed a strong hand on his shoulder and stared ahead. "Let's go." With a gentle push, they both slid down the icy hill like a bunch of kids soaring down a water slide.

When they reached the bottom, Captain MacTavish chuckled light-heartedly. "And to think, that wasn't even the fun part."

"That worries me." Roach said humorously, while he watched his Captain remove the lids of the packages.

One contained basic supplies, such as water, food, fire-starters, and climbing essentials while the other contained a set of objects a bit more on the dangerous side. Within the confines of the package on the left was a suppressed, red dot sight ACR, equipped with a heartbeat sensor, a M21 EBR sniper rifle equally equipped, (only difference was the thermal scope), two suppressed USP .45 handguns, and some C4. Roach eyeballed the C4.

"What's the C4 going to be used for? I must have missed the whole…explosion part." He stated.

MacTavish peered up through snow laced eyebrows. "We'll be placing this onto one of the fueling stations. We're calling it, 'Plan B'. Here, start filling your backpack up with these rations and fire-starters."

Roach threw a set of rope over his shoulder and began to fill his bag with much needed equipment. "Sounds…portentous."

"Sure, if you enjoy watching things explode…grab that ACR." MacTavish ordered, pointing a finger towards the camouflaged gun while he snatched up the M21 EBR.

After a few rather unnoticed minutes passed, they both finished stocking up and stood simultaneously. His Captain began to attach some device to his chest piece.

"Alright, this little guy right here is the indicator to these heartbeat sensors. It lets you know that I'm the good guy. You get one too," he handed one to Roach, "we won't be needing these until tomorrow, so we'll save the battery for then--"

He was suddenly interrupted by another radio transmission, "This is HQ. You men will find the fueling depot about 7 klicks northwest of your current location, and elevated 10,000 feet above sea level. We're releasing you on your own now, if you need updates, send us a call. HQ out."

"A classic two day mission," MacTavish announced while patting Roach's back. "Alright, let's get moving mate. We've got a lot of ground to cover."

Now the real mission began. They were heavily equipped to the teeth and began to start their way through the snow drenched Tian Shan Range. Roach would have asked why they weren't dropped off closer, if he hadn't already known. Since the fueling depot they were heading to was stationed for fighter jets and Russian air support, they had to be precise and careful with their course of travel. Dropping them off too close would potentially lead to being discovered, and it was such a risk, that no one was willing to take the chance. So, they took the long, but safe, route. The rest was in the hands of two S.A.S. men.

Roach stared at the ground as they trotted thickly through the snow. His weight had easily doubled and applied an ample amount of pressure to his knees and thighs. But that was nothing. It was the ice-climbing part of it that was going to prove to be the challenge. Slam your ice pick into a weakly supported area, with that amount of weight, and you'd be seeing yourself either hitting the bottom of a near endless fall or just hanging onto your dear life with the other hand. But, that's what they found themselves doing: ice-climbing.

They spent the rest of the day heading uphill; more like up-mountain rather. It was a tiring and hardy process, but either way, it was progress, and it was fast progress.

MacTavish was impressed with Roach's adaptability. The minimal practice he had had was proving to be all the worthwhile. They scaled the mountain and scuffled through batting winds and deep snow for a solid five hours before they final hit daybreak and found themselves crashing near a set of open spruces.

Using the parachutes they kept, fallen branches, and packed snow, they formed a makeshift shelter that created warmth (with a fire by the opening) and acted as a temporary refuge from the dropping temperatures. The sun was dropping swiftly behind the tops of the ice-sprinkled mountains and the sky was the palette for a series of dying colors. It was a serene moment in time. Just two men, out in the frozen wilderness, with nothing but each other for entertainment.

Captain MacTavish and Roach sat contently around the fire, eating their dehydrated fruit and food rations mindfully. They talked quietly and rarely, words weren't needed much around a man like MacTavish. He was reserved and provided stories and information with his eyes. It was as if the man used telepathy to communicate at times. But nonetheless, Roach still asked questions and started conversations with little second thought.

He had learned much from the man, but not all of it were basic tips for survival and hand-to-hand combat, most of it was from the man's past. MacTavish was an intriguing man, and since day one, Roach had wanted to know more, and what better way to learn than on this two-man mission into the mountains? Roach listened to his stories attentively, saying few words as he watched his Captain captivate moments from his past with his hands and selective vocabulary. He had even learned of the cause of the deep scar on Captain MacTavish's face.

It had occurred nearly five years ago, back when he was still a Sergeant in the S.A.S. 22nd Regiment, in fact, it was his last mission within the 22nd Regiment. And during that mission, he had assassinated Imran Zakhaev and lost everyone he had grown to love, all except for his Captain. The mentioning of MacTavish's past Captain had Roach raising his eyebrows.

"Who was your Captain back then?" Roach inquired with his neck lowered in between his shoulders.

The look on MacTavish's face was a lively one. "Oh, yes, that was quite a man. He redefined 'unique'. His name was Price, Captain Price is what I knew him by. He was a hard-ass, but he was a loveable one." MacTavish chuckled softly through a wide smile. "Price was one of those people that really leaves an impression on a man. It was hard _not_ to find him intriguing."

As his Captain fell silent and drank from his canteen, Roach felt compelled to ask a certain question that popped into his thoughts. "What happened to him?" Now this resulted in a drastic change of posture and mannerisms from MacTavish. His Captain shifted uneasily and stared his narrowing eyes into the flames of the burning fire.

Captain MacTavish's mouth parted as he shook his head gently. "I--I don't know."

Roach found the answer…rather odd, especially since it had no follow-ups or details. It was just as plain as not knowing. As simple as it may have seemed, Roach saw a hidden profoundness about it. But it was quickly and subtly washed away by MacTavish's swift change in topics.

"It's getting late, we better wind down and get some shut-eye. Tomorrow demands even _more_ energy out of us, so better store up now." MacTavish stated while throwing his trash into the fire; the flames swallowed it eagerly.

Roach let the almost unanswered question slide and began to do the same. Within minutes, both the men lay quietly under their shelter and curled up with their gear. By the time morning came, the night's events and stories would just become another part of the past with the dawning of the new day. And this new day marked a diverse kind of adventure for Roach. Adventure that he was willing and ready to take.


	9. Cliffhanger Day 2

LONG CHAPTER!! I don't like doing that to you guys, because it's a lot to read! But I wanted to keep it all in one day, I didn't want to have to provide a two parter...because those are aggravating too! So, what I did, is I broke it up into sections with line breaks. So that way, if you can't finish the chapter, at least you still have a good place to stop. As always, thanks for the patients as well as the reviews!

* * *

It was just barely mid afternoon, and the blaring sun was set at its highest point like the star on a Christmas tree as it shimmered through a thick, icy layer of clouds. The temperature was at a low degree and it froze ice to Roach's five o' clock shadow and eyebrows. He felt like Jack Frost, glaring through spiked eyebrows into the souls of the innocents that found themselves stuck in his freezing tantrum.

The two men were positioned high up into the mountain; several more meters and they would be finding themselves at the pinnacle of this peak. The view was a spectacular one. Roach could see the sides of the other surrounding mountains, and even peer over the jagged side in hopes of seeing the bottom through the frosty fog. He found himself with his back up against the frozen rock of the cliff while he looked around, inhaling the sweet scent of his Captain's cigar.

Even though the smell of cigars and cigarettes were both very diverse, he still found the scent irritating. Just smoke in general had him dwelling on his past, which was something he didn't want to do elevated almost 10,000 feet above sea level. Although, Roach wasn't a fan of smoking, the image MacTavish portrayed while he puffed smoke was a rather appealing one. The man would make a great model for a cigar poster. Which was weird, since Roach hadn't even seen his Captain suggest or hint that he was a mild cigar smoker, so Roach assumed it was the man's exclusive mental preparation technique. MacTavish blinked thoughtfully, eyes staring intensely ahead.

The serene silence was suddenly interrupted by a jet flying past. Roach found the whole thought of actually looking _down_ at a fighter jet to be a rather comical one. The sound of the jet followed close behind as it rattled their chests and shook some loosened ice shards free from their entrapment. Although, seeing the jet was somewhat irking, especially for any regular person's thought process, it was also a good one. It meant that they were closing in on their destination. They had been climbing up ice and treading through snow for the past day and a half, so Roach was enlightened by the image.

After the jet disappeared into the hazed horizon, Captain MacTavish peered over his left shoulder in Roach's direction, eyebrows furrowing. He took the end of his cigar into the tips of his gloved fingers and flicked it over the side while he simultaneously gave a nod.

"Alright, Roach, break's over. Let's go." MacTavish stated flatly while rising from his tucked position. Roach followed through with the order and began to follow his Captain up against the mountain, while minding his distance from the edge as the ledge narrowed. With their backs pressed against the cold surface of the mountain, they progressed sideways like a set of crabs on the beach. Their breath blew from their mouths and noses in a visible stream of vapor; Roach watched his apathetically.

Abruptly, MacTavish came to a halt to check his belt and move his rifle to a comfortable position while his neck remained craned towards the side of the mountain. He exhaled deeply before rifling around on his backside in search of something crucial. Keeping his main concentration on his balance, he finally seized his ice picks and pulled them out in front of his reddened, ice-bitten face. Before making any drastic movements, he laced the straps at the end of each ice pick around his wrists, and secured them tightly. After the task was finished swiftly, he raised the instruments before his face once again, as if he was wielding two hatchets, and began to speak to his partner.

"Roach, I want you to stay here and spot me. Wait for my go."

Roach nodded professionally. "Roger that."

With catlike litheness, MacTavish was able to swing the left side of his body in a 180 degree motion, after anchoring the right ice pick, and plant his ice pick into the side of the cliff, allowing his stomach to face the icy, blue surface. As quickly as he had flung himself, he began to exhibit some of his beast-like strength. He scaled the side like a spider would any wall, as he propelled himself upwards in a 90 degree angle with his thighs, using his spiked shoes for support. Roach speculated him attentively, inspired by how his Captain made the task look easy, as if any average-Joe could scale a frozen mountain.

"Alright, the ice is good. Follow me." MacTavish announced while gazing up at his working arms and the areas he slammed his picks into.

Eagerly, Roach mirrored Captain MacTavish by swinging his body to face the mountain and began to creep up the side. Roach wasn't as quick as his Captain, but he moved skillfully and thoughtfully as he sprung upwards, in hopes of _finally_ reaching the top before MacTavish did. Sure, it was no race, but Roach enjoyed turning it into one in his mind. He moistened his chapped lips with his tongue as he neared his Captain's rear.

Roach's sharply focused concentration was broken once they reach the midpoint and found themselves staring up at the bottom of a passing jet that bolted directly overhead. The sound waves and force that followed the jet were strong as they shook the ice and loosened one of MacTavish's ice picks free. Shards of ice fell from above MacTavish, some smaller ones hitting his cheeks, melting instantly, as he dangled freely while he kept himself from falling with his left arm. Roach held his breath as he watched worriedly while MacTavish kicked his feet in the air, trying to regain control of the situation. Again, his Captain displayed this simplicity about his actions as he planted his feet into the side and regained his balance. Casually, the near death experience went unnoticed by MacTavish as he resumed his climbing.

Roach was impressed, after all, if Captain MacTavish _had_ fallen, he would have hit Roach dead-on and sent them both tumbling to their deaths. But, luckily that had not occurred, even though what could have happened continued to replay in Roach's mind.

Just as quickly as they started, they could have plummeted to their death, and bam…mission failed. All thanks to a passing jet. Roach couldn't help but allow these possible scenarios and images run through his working imagination, it was something he was good at.

MacTavish suddenly reached the top before Roach could even have time to return to reality. Inches away from the top, Roach pushed upwards and pulled himself to the top with his two ice picks. He stood up, panting softly and cracked his knuckles while he gawked up to where his Captain paced.

Roach watched MacTavish shuffle towards him, too deep in his focused state to have given much heed to Roach. He eventually spoke while turning on his heels.

"Good luck, mate. I'll see you on the far side."

Roach didn't know what the man meant by, "the far side", but for some reason it didn't sound good and was probably potentially life-threatening.

His suspicions were confirmed as the daring man sprinted towards the edge of the new cliff they found themselves on and bounded off the side, over a gully, and landed on the side of another cliff. Roach was too awed to react right away, and immediately wondered how he was going to sprint and then leap over a hole, easily twelve feet in diameter, with all of the extra weight bearing down on him. Not only that, but he was suppose to somehow manage to latch onto the frozen side of a cliff and hope his over 250 pound mass didn't cause him to break the ice.

Captain MacTavish began to motion for Roach to follow, using his right arm as he clung to the side of the mountain. Roach shook his head free of the amazement and ultimately brought his game face with him. One bad move, and well, he would be seeing himself in an early grave.

He shifted his feet, regaining some of the missing warmth, and began to sprint to the end. Unfortunately, the siding he leapt off broke loose from under his weight as he pushed off, throwing off his sense of balance and direction. Roach landed several feet under his Captain, planting both picks into the ice and found himself scrapping through the surface. His weight, and awkward latching, caused him to leave two deep scars along the mountain as he continued to be drug downward.

"Hold on, don't let go!" MacTavish shouted down towards him.

Roach's mind raced anxiously, causing him to forget all uncomfortable senses throughout his body and only focus on his deadly descend.

Suddenly, Roach reached the bottom and was luckily stopped by a strong spot as his right ice pick broke free and had him hanging lopsided, feet dangling. He panted heavily as he watched his ice pick sway in the frosty breeze while it whipped at his face.

Roach continued to breath fervently, and uneasily, as he brought his attention away from the drop-off and towards his only life-support, which was his other ice pick. He straightened his body and brought his right hand up, bracing himself by grasping what was left of the handle. Then, he heard the ice snap and crack.

_Please. Don't…_ Roach panicked. Biting his lip as he slowly attempted to lift himself up. But that's when the ice shattered…

Time stood still. The lump in his throat prevented any air from exiting or entering as the ice pick broke from the ice and had him free falling. But, through the icy dusting above his head, descended his Captain who had risked his life to grab Roach's left arm. The man looked like some kind of arch angel, with those intense blue eyes that stared through dark eyebrows and the clenched jaw that showed his bearing white teeth. Somehow, MacTavish had released himself from his holding and managed to catch himself and Roach after falling to rescue his left-hand man. Like a rush of raging water, Roach let loose all of his breath as he gasped for air while he hung within MacTavish's strong grip.

MacTavish bore a mixture of emotions on his face. Panic. Anger. Relief. All of which were appropriate feelings for the circumstances.

Captain MacTavish stared into Roach's dark brown eyes, speckled with green, and eventually peered up over his left shoulder to confirm their safety. He gestured with his head for Roach to follow, as he released all of his God-given strength and heaved Roach towards the heavens with a grunt. With one arm, he swung Roach, as if he was mere child, towards the open spot on the mountain a little ways up. Roach reacted quickly and slammed his picks into the ice where he sat momentarily to regain his senses.

His face was planted in his cold sleeve while he watched MacTavish return to climbing from the corner of his vision. Within a few brief seconds, Roach was back in the game and was climbing along side his Captain, who he now considered to be his ultimate hero.

Within seconds, they pulled themselves over the side of the spiked ridge and placed the ice picks back to their former location. Which had Roach releasing a mental sigh of relief, because that also meant that they finally had reached the peak, and already he could smell the jet engine fuel with what was left of his clogged up nose.

He watched MacTavish straighten up boldly, before moving through the snow to climb up a hump and over an incline. Roach followed close with his alert deep, forest-brown scanning the area and the new scenery. At the top of the incline, the runway became visible through the twirling snow. Just when Roach thought they would be walking a few ways further, MacTavish stopped without warning to face Roach.

"Roach, check your heartbeat sensor." MacTavish ordered while bending his knees, placing him in a crouched position.

Roach followed through with his orders and pulled open the plastic flap attached to the left side of the ACR. The flap held a small screen, that illuminated a soft blue glow and ticked almost soundlessly with every few passing seconds.

"Remember what we discussed?" His Captain asked through the biting wind.

Roach replied by nodding prudently.

"That blue dot is me. All other unrecognizable objects will appear as white dots. This little guy will be your set of eyes in the snow." He stood and waved for Roach to trail after him.

* * *

They shuffled a few yards through the snow before they rounded a wall of rock and spotted two Russian guards with their backs turned. The two men ambled absent-mindedly, cigarettes in hand.

The two S.A.S. men came to a complete stop to lower themselves and stare at their first challenge.

"Roach, these two muppets don't even know we're here. So lets take this nice and slow." Captain MacTavish announced while bracing his rifle and aiming down the sight. "I'll get the one on the right. On three…"

Roach took aim at the unaware man to the left, who blew a rush of smoke from his mouth.

"1, 2, 3..." when 3 hit, both men pulled the triggers and simultaneously had both men falling dead weight into the snow. Blood seeped from their necks and heads and painted a splash of crimson onto the untouched snow.

MacTavish removed the scope from in front of his narrowed eye and observed their work. "Nicely done."

With the two guards down, they had a fairly decent cleared path down towards where the hill met with the barracks. While they walked, guns raised and shoulders low, the wind turned into a gust and the amount of snow and ice doubled.

"Oh damn…" Roach cringed.

"Looks like the storm's brewing up." MacTavish commented advisedly with watchful eyes.

Once they finally reached the bottom of the hill, MacTavish jerked away in a different direction, leaving Roach standing by himself.

"Let's split up. I'll use the thermal scope while you get to the fueling station. I'll provide over-watch from this ridge." He peered over his shoulder at Roach after climbing up the side of a short cliff. "Use the storm for cover. You'll be a ghost in this blizzard, so the guards won't see you until you're really close…" Roach watched his Captain disappear into the oblivion of whiteness, but still heard his rough voice through the radio. "Remember, keep an eye on your heartbeat sensor. Good luck."

Roach was now on his own. Sure, his Captain kept watch like some sort of Angel of Death, but one slip, and he'd be the one facing the fire. He was on foot, and alone, partially blinded by the gusts of dry mountain wind.

The quiet, but professional, man lowered himself from the hill and onto lower ground where a military truck and a set of small barracks sat. Within seconds, he found himself crouching and staring vigilantly at a single guard who stood in front of the opened door of the nearest barrack. If it hadn't been for the tick of the heartbeat sensor, Roach would have stumbled right into the man. Apparently, even his Captain witnessed it as well.

"Easy Roach. There's a guard there."

With little thought, Roach shot three suppressed bullets at the guard and penetrated his chest, sending him falling backwards into the snow.

"Nice shot." MacTavish complimented over the radio.

Roach moved forward like a prowling cat and into the opened shelter. At the far end, a Russian slept peacefully in a chair with his booted feet propped up onto the desk in front of him. With a bullet to the back of the head, the man was now taking an eternal slumber. Roach moved passed his lifeless body, keeping his steady pace as he made his way back outside. He knew where to go; the previous discussion about the mission was still cemented into his memory.

"There's a truck coming. Get to cover before they see you." MacTavish announced, sending Roach into a scurry for the backside of a set of propane tanks. He listened quietly to the sound of the motor as it hummed by and out of sight. Roach returned to his journey where he remained alert and listened for his Captain's voice.

"Remember, Roach. The fueling station is located at the northeast corner of the runway--hold up."

Roach went to one knee, keeping his ACR raised in front of his chest as he spotted two guards positioned up a little ways on the runway.

Just when he had a plan in his head and his finger on the trigger, Captain MacTavish's words had him halting in his eager tracks.

"They're mine."

And just like that, MacTavish sent a precision shot from his position and penetrated the first one through the chest, causing the bullet to hit the other man in the shoulder. With a second silent shot, both men crashed into the ground. The whole shooting took no longer than a second. Roach pondered MacTavish's current location, for he had no clue as where the man was even stationed.

"Alright, you're good for a little ways. Most of them are patrolling the runway. There's also that truck making rounds, but I'll keep an eye on that for ya."

"Roger that," Roach replied sternly. He brought himself up and continued his way for fueling station. He kept his eyes shifting in all different directions, while glancing at his wrist compass to confirm his sense of direction. It wasn't long before he found himself walking stealthily past a few unsuspecting guards and onto the hard concrete of the runway.

"Hold up. There's some activity on the runway. Looks like there's twenty-plus foot mobiles heading in your general direction…" MacTavish said, with a hint of simplicity. With those words being said over the radio, Roach rushed behind a set of concrete guardrails and crouched near a lone MIG. "That truck's coming back, Roach. Near your backside, stay low."

Immediately, Roach felt overwhelmed by the madness. He could sense he was on barrowed time, especially when he heard the truck's tires squeal and steadily ease to a temporary stop. Inside his chest, his heart pumped strongly while air blew from his nose smoothly.

"Roach, the storm's tapering off slightly, you may want to plan on making your way across the runway before those mobiles get any closer…trucks moving again." His Captain broadcasted, causing Roach to return to his feet and swiftly move past the MIG and across the runway, minding his surroundings. He could see no visible signs of the patrolling men, but on the heartbeat sensor, the front line of them began to flash. But, just as quickly as he had stood up to make a dash, he found himself nearing a set of gas tanks.

"There's the fueling station," he heard his Captain say.

Roach kneeled before the encased tanks and reached for the C4 attached to his backside. His hands found the dangerous explosive and soon used a few straps of some strong tape to hold it in place. Before standing up, he stared at his work to assure himself of its decent placement.

When he felt content, he spoke through his radio, "Captain, the deed is done."

"Good. Give me a moment. I got to locate the satellite…" MacTavish replied, allowing the quiet Roach to wait patiently. "I'm getting some radio traffic from the satellite. Standby…got it. Looks like the satellite is located in the far hangar, southwest of _your_ location." He heard MacTavish make a playful, almost inaudible snicker, "race you there. Oscar Mike. Out."

"Copy that," Roach answered with a smile.

Again, he found himself crossing the runway and avoiding any of the men as best as he could. Luckily for him, the storm had managed to pick up again, shrouding him in a sea of ice and snow, rendering him almost invisible to the naked eye. At the other end, he had to takeout another set of guards before he could advance. Roach was beginning to wonder when these bodies would start being discovered. Sure, it may have been hard to see, but he knew they did constant radio checks. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the base knew.

With this thought on mind, he trailed across another runway and into the snow, where two barracks sat. Scanning the surrounding area to confirm his safety, he ran down the middle of the two and jumped down into a small alley located behind the two buildings. His attention snapped to the abrupt tick his heartbeat sensor emitted, which had his heart pound, for it was close. But, he felt relieved when he saw what the small screen revealed: a blue dot.

Roach peered up to see Captain MacTavish standing near a dumpster, a somewhat irritated look on his face.

"Took the scenic route, eh?" MacTavish inquired intrusively.

Roach approached him with a diverted air about him. "Of course. I just love observing all of these lovely MIGs while enjoying this pleasant mountain weather."

Before his Captain made a full turn towards the backdoor of the barrack, Roach was able to see a small smile creep onto his face.

"Let's go." MacTavish ordered with a large hand falling onto the doorknob.

He cautiously opened the door and crept in silently with Roach following. Once inside, Captain MacTavish spotted a guard located at the end of the small, dark hallway and began to sprint towards the oblivious man. MacTavish brought his head and shoulders down and slammed his weight into the man. The Russian hit a set of lockers behind him, shaking them violently as some of the doors swung open, and was flung down forcefully by MacTavish's monstrous strength.

Roach stepped forward, minding his distance, all while watching amazed as the, once thoughtless, man hit the dirty floor with his back and began to scream wildly. Captain MacTavish shut him up quickly by unsheathing his combat knife and bringing it ruthlessly into the man's neck. There was a strained gargle out of him before he fell silent and twitched his foot.

MacTavish stood indifferently and walked into an adjoining room, that was much more vast and lit by dim fluorescents and the small windows that covered the walls. In the center of it all, was the satellite.

"Roach, I want you to go upstairs and look for the ACS module. It should be up in that room somewhere." His Captain instructed while kneeling by the satellite.

"Roger that." Roach replied, striding past MacTavish and his power tools and towards the stairs on the opposite side.

* * *

Once he made it into the upstairs room, that appeared to be a small office space, he scanned the desks and tables for anything of importance. Nothing seemed crucial or rung a bell. Then he saw it. The last table near a window had the module sitting casually atop it. He snatched the device, placing it in a safe spot in his backpack, and moved for the exit. But then, he heard the barrack's garage door opening. Did MacTavish do that? Surely he didn't…that would have been too risky. Before he stepped through the threshold, he heard his Captain speak to him through the radio.

"Roach…we've been compromised--" Roach crouched and peeped around the corner. There stood his Captain, before a large group of heavily armed Russians in the now opened garage door, with both his arms raised. "Just keep a low profile and hold your fire." Roach swallowed hard and tightly braced his ACR with nervous hands. He knew they would have been eventually discovered, but _not_ in this fashion, this was _bad_. Then he heard Russian being shouted through a loudspeaker.

"This is Major Petrov! Come out with your hands up!" Roach translated the Russian in his head and kept his worried attention on MacTavish. He knew his Captain was sharp, but this was becoming a serious ordeal. "You have five seconds to comply!"

MacTavish blinked slowly, teeth grinding, and spoke softly to Roach through the radio. "Roach…go to 'Plan B'."

Roach's eyes flashed. 'Plan B'! Of course! He rummaged for the C4 remote control device as the death count began.

"5..."

His found the control.

"4..."

He brought it before his face, biting his lip.

"3..."

His thumb landed on the button, and then…

An eruption of fire, gas, and smoke filled the skyline off in the distance. The explosion was massive, it rumbled the walls and turned all heads. MacTavish brought his rifle up, and began to splatter bullets. Roach ran for the stairs, shooting a few men his Captain hadn't already taken out.

"Stay close and hug the wall!" MacTavish shouted as bullets soared past his head and out of his M21. "We'll use their MIGs as cover and cross the runway to the southeast!"

Roach leapt down the rest of the stairs and ran to his Captain's side. The two rushed to the side of the barrack, shooting down a few Russians that sent bullets in their direction. Within seconds, this stealth mission had completely changed playing tables, and was now a straight up war scene. MacTavish peered his head through the opening and felt satisfied with their path.

"Follow me, lets go!" He shouted through screaming Russians and angered gunfire.

They both began sprinting, occasionally shooting down anyone in their line of sight and ducking their heads to avoid being hit.

"Jesus Christ!" Roach hollered as he ran past MacTavish who motioned for him to run ahead.

"Roach, head for those MIGs past these guardrails. I'll cover you."

At first, Roach hesitated when the number of guards seemed to double as they poured out onto the runway before them, but MacTavish quickly sent a few to the ground.

"To the east, go!!" With his Captain's screams, he dashed for the closest MIG, leaping over the concrete guardrail and letting loose blind fire. Once by the MIG, he lowered himself and reloaded his gun, panting heavily as MacTavish joined his side.

"Alright, my turn. I'm making a break for it. Cover me." MacTavish ordered as he shot out from behind the MIG and dashed across the runway. Roach stood up straight and began firing at anyone who dared to aim their gun towards the sprinting man. He moved along at a steady pace, and once he felt the man was safe, he scrambled after him. They both stopped for cover near the closest barrack. Air puffed from their mouths endlessly. Then, they heard engines revving.

Roach's eyes narrowed. "What the hell is that?"

MacTavish looked up a few ways, and saw men on snowmobiles. "Damn. They're on snowmobiles too…" he quickly looked around before continuing, "we've got to run for that drop-off over there…let's go."

As he ran out from behind the barrack Roach began to shoot the drivers of the snowmobiles, causing them to lose control and crash into the nearest objects. If he got lucky, he could cause a collision of another snowmobile or another man.

They finally made it to the end of the run way and slid down the icy hill. At the bottom, sat a tiny shack and some spruces. Roach and MacTavish rounded on their heels to kill off any followers as they popped up at the top of the hill. The two men picked them off, sending them to their death as they plummeted into the snow. Then the rest of the snowmobiles caught up and soared over the hillside, avoiding Roach and MacTavish's line of fire.

"Damn it. They're going around the side." Roach commented as his Captain rushed for cover near the shack. Roach joined him just in time to witness MacTavish slammed his ice pick into the chest of the unsuspecting driver of the first snowmobile and sent it cruising over the side. The two remaining snowmobiles zoomed past and into the center, where the passengers came to a stop to take steady aim at the intruders. But before the Russians could release any bullets, Roach and MacTavish finished them off.

The two snowmobiles were now unoccupied…and up for grabs.

"Roach, take a snowmobile. Let's get the hell out of here." MacTavish said as they rushed through the snow for their new transportation.

Roach started the engine, but before he could apply any gas to the vehicle, he noticed an untouched Mini Uzi hanging from the side by a safety strap. _What convenience, _Roach thought. Keeping the new found gun by his side, he squeezed the gas and began to pushed his way through the snow and over a hill. The wind began to whip and lash even more as his speed increased.

MacTavish began to speak into his radio. "Kilo-Six-One. The primary exit has been compromised. We're now en route to the backup LZ, using enemy transport. Meet us there! Out!"

They both waited for a reply from the chopper, but before the reassuring voice brought relief, more enemies on snowmobiles pursued the two men.

Roach and MacTavish dodged trees and gunfire as best as they could as they finally got the reply they wanted.

"Bravo-Six, this is Kilo-Six-One, we roger that. Out."

"Thank God…" MacTavish uttered before peering over his shoulder out of distress. "Roach! More tangos to our rear! Just out run them! Go, go!"

Roach nodded, as if he felt the Captain could see him, and applied more gas. They scrapped across a frozen lake, other snowmobiles with more velocity soared past them, spitting rapid fire. Roach grinded his teeth and lowered his head behind the windshield. Then, he quickly remembered the Mini Uzi and began firing with as much accuracy he could muster. He managed to take out two passing snowmobiles before he had to use both hands to make a sharp turn. MacTavish glanced at his partner with distraught.

"Don't slow down!" MacTavish screamed over the radio, causing Roach to ignore their pursuers. "Keep moving or you're dead!" His Captain managed to regain his steering and sped ahead of Roach. They ramped up a hill and landed roughly on the other side, nearly hitting patches of trees and their exposed roots.

"Go, go, go!"

While his Captain continued to shout at Roach, he fired away until the clip ran dry. Since there was no way of reloading without crashing, Roach threw the gun away and began to hope he could avoid the gunfire that continued to clink on his rear.

"Come on, Roach!"

They entered a small valley and weaved around the corners and tight turns that abruptly came their way. A snowmobile and its passengers eased parallel to the side of Roach and took aim. Roach could see them in the corner of his vision and held his breath. Before the man could pull the trigger, their snowmobile snagged some exposed tree roots causing them to flip their vehicle.

"Bravo-Six…we're getting close to bingo fuel, what's your status? Over."

Even though Captain MacTavish was a few ways ahead of Roach, Roach could still sense the man's irritation, especially when he gave them a reply.

"Kilo-Six-One, we're taking heavy fire, but we're almost there! Standby!" As MacTavish provided an answer, they found themselves soaring down a steep hill. It was a straight up plummet. Spruces populated the hillside, creating more dangerous obstacle to avoid. "Roach, just pin the throttle. The LZ is at the end of this hill. Keep going."

Roach did just that and allowed the mechanics and gravity to carry him the rest of the way. He finally felt a bit safer, knowing they were no longer being chased, but when his eyes trailed down to the end of the hill, there was a large gap between them and the other side.

"Captain…" Roach stuttered over the radio.

His Captain sensed the young man's worry and followed his stare. MacTavish was hit by fear. "Bloody hell…hold on, Roach!"

They both braced their handles tightly and prepared themselves for the eagle-like jump. Roach couldn't find his breath, as a lump formed in his throat just when their vehicles ramped off the side and left the ground.

Their stomachs fluttered and time seemed to freeze in mid-air as the other side grew in size. Failing now would have been quite the tragedy…but they made it.

It was a rough landing, that broke most of the underside of the snowmobiles. They putted along past a few more spruces. Their transportation came into view.

"There's the chopper…we made it."

"Bravo-Six, we have you on visual. Get your asses on board! We're leaving."

* * *

Inside the chopper after it had taken flight and left the scene, Roach was able to give his Captain the proper thanks.

"Captain MacTavish," he pulled the man's attention from the window, "back there, on the mountain…"

MacTavish held out a hand, that had Roach ending his sentence early. "There's no need for it, Roach. Saving each other lives is just something we do here. Save that for another time."

Somehow, Captain MacTavish already knew what the young man was implying, and simple gave him a comforting smile.

Roach nodded and returned the gesture, but his active mind continued to work. "Yeah, but if I had fallen…" MacTavish's eyes stared sharply, "…I would have had enough time to plan my funeral before I hit the ground."

MacTavish had to laugh at his joke. After all, it was bitterly true.

"You're just living up to your name."

Roach pondered this, becoming confused. "My name?"

"Just like a roach…you're hard to kill."

He immediately thought back to Royce throwing the captured roach out of their dorm instead of attempting to stomp on the creature. It was strange, because it all was making sense. Who would have thought that something as simple as that could tie together with the origin of Roach and what it may truly mean? He was just glad his name was Roach, and not something a bit more inadequate, like Fly.


	10. Following the Shell

Alright, I apologize for how long it took me to update. I was off school two days in a row for snow, so it forced me to get motivated and type this up. It's a long chapter as well...but I provided page breaks for those of you who may not be able to finish it in one sitting (it's only 10 pages...). Also, dialogue typed with ( ) around it is being spoken in Portuguese, I didn't want to translate all of it, and I also didn't want to translate incorrectly...that's always embarrassing. As always, thanks for the comments/alerts/favs :) Enjoy!

* * *

Returning to the camp had Roach feeling like royalty. His fellow comrades gathered around to ask eager questions, (except for Reaper, he was far too annoyed) Meat being the one to ask the most questions.

"So, what was it like? Did you have to kill anybody?" Meat inquired over the others.

"At the beginning, it was nothing but climbing. But when day two hit, we reached the base, and that's when all hell broke loose--" Roach replied.

Royce found his way into the crowd. "So…you guys had to retaliate?"

Roach gave a nod. "Fought fire with fire…honestly, I'm still surprised we came out alive."

The curious questions continued to flood into Roach's ears, until they ultimately died down and dispersed, just like the sun as it vanished beyond the horizon.

The day that followed brought grim news…the kind of news that had a man's stomach churn. A man of great importance and stature sent for MacTavish and Riley. He needed to speak to the men that ran the Task Force 141. This man's name was General Shepherd, and he was the man in charge of it _all._ An American, no wonder. He had beckoned for the two men early the next morning, the news was urgent, and he needed to speak to them directly.

Inside the conference room, the three men watched videos on the wall with concerned eyes. Shepherd was a stern looking man. A flat mouth, sharp features, and an even sharper stare. He watched the images before him with his thumb on his chin.

Simon Riley and John MacTavish were at a loss of words as the images unfolded. They were fresh news broadcastings, straight from Russia. What their eyes showed them was sinister.

An entire Russian airport had been brutally murdered by a set of heavily armed gunmen; terrorists rather. And what they left behind was a trail of the innocent dead-children, mothers, the elderly- and an American…the American was actually sent as a spy by Shepherd. The man was a field agent from the C.I.A. and his name was Joseph Allen. Unfortunately, all the Russians saw was an American who had just assisted in an inhumane assault. This looked bad, _very_ bad. Even though Shepherd's face was unmoving, he was no were near calm.

Riley shook his head in dismay, biting his lip as the video played on the wall and in his head. "This is _not_ good. The Russians aren't gonna let this massacre go unanswered. It's gonna get bloody." He announced, unable to remove his eyes from the outlandish replays.

MacTavish crossed his broad arms. "Too right, mate. Now, in the eyes of the world, they're the victims. No one's gonna say a word when the Russians club every American they can reach."

"Makarov was one move ahead," Shepherd followed through, pulling their attention from the videos. He straightened his posture and reached for the wireless mouse by his chair. "Now the man's left thousands of bodies at the feet of a single American."

MacTavish eyed the man with a sense of curiosity. There was something about the man's aura that worried the young Captain. John couldn't put a finger on it, but as for now, he'd have to shrug it off and, instead, be more concerned with the current situation.

"We're the only ones who know it was Makarov's operation. _No_ one else does," MacTavish stated matter-of-factly, leaning forward to support his weight on the table with his arms. "Our credibility died with Allen…we need proof. Without it, Allen's just another criminal."

Shepherd's eyes found MacTavish's. "Follow the shell." His hand worked the mouse and pulled up a picture of a man onto the projected screen. "…Alejandro Rojas."

Riley and MacTavish found the man's eyes on the still picture. Pictured next to him was a darker complected man, possibly his side-arm man.

John felt confused and shook his head. "Never heard of him, sir."

Shepherd opened up additional files. "You should know him as Alex the Red. He supplied the assault."

That time around, the name rung a bell, and had both Riley and MacTavish nodding with realization. What bothered them both, was how Shepherd already possessed this information.

"One bullet to unleash the fury of a whole nation. Which means…" John said only to be interrupted in the middle of his thoughts.

"Which means he's our ticket to Makarov." Shepherd answered, with his stare still locked onto the screen and Rojas' oval shaped face.

"Consider him dead." Riley commented with lowered brows.

"Not so fast. We need the man alive, that's why I called for you two. We are sending you and your men to the Rio de Janeiro area, to find and retrieve the man and the information he has." Shepherd said with that unchanging look in his light blue eyes. He walked over to MacTavish and placed a strong hand on his shoulder. "I know I can entrust you and your men with this important task…right?"

John looked at Shepherd's hand then found the man's face. John MacTavish's look alone was enough to answer the question.

* * *

"Wait a minute, you're not going?" Roach asked Worm who sat in his bed, picking dirt from under his nails.

Worm shook his head, still keeping his eyes on his work in progress. "Nah, I got assigned to joint-operate with the SEALs."

"But you're a part of MacTavish's Task Force…" Meat commented through a mouthful of foam and toothpaste. Royce sat quietly while watching the events unfold. Each of them enjoyed Worm and his humor. They found it to be a shame that he wasn't joining them.

"True, I am. But the Task Force is very flexible. While half of you guys are selected by the "Leftenant" and Captain, the other members are sent off to help other branches of military on special operation missions. That's where me, Reaper, Hammerhead and the others are going. The SEALs need some mild assistants, so Archer is taking us with his sniper team to provide that help."

"Don't get killed. I'd like to work by you soon." Royce stated flatly, with hidden hints of concern.

Worm flashed his wide smile. "Same goes for you, man. When you guys return from Brazil, you let me know how it went, alright?"

"That sounds like a plan," said Meat from his corner.

The morning was quickly disappearing and noon time was closing in on Captain MacTavish and his five selected men: Ghost, Roach, Meat, Royce, and an Australian that went by the name Dingo. By 1300 hours, they'd be on their ride to Brazil and what the humid country had waiting for them.

When the MH-60L DAP helicopter landed, all of the Take Force 141, except for Ghost and the Captain, pulled themselves aboard and awaited for the appearance of the remaining two. The pilots appeared impatient, but they would have to wait.

Ghost found MacTavish standing alone, staring at the far end of the camp.

"Sir, the chopper is ready." Ghost announced while striding towards MacTavish's backside.

The silent man didn't answer right away, and instead, narrowed his blue eyes quizzing.

"Sir?"

Captain MacTavish turned his head towards Ghost and avoided the remark. "I've got a strange feeling, Ghost."

Ghost straightened his posture and remained still. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," MacTavish turned his head back towards the end of the camp again and bit his lip, "I just fear we won't be returning with all of our men."

Ghost didn't want to feed the negative thoughts, but sadly, it was most likely true. The mission they were assigned was labeled as a highly dangerous operation. The area they were being shipped off too was teeming with Brazilian Militia men, a heavily armed gang said to be in alliance with "Alex the Red", and maybe even the Russian madman, Vladimir Makarov. The chances of them returning unharmed and fully intact was unlikely.

"Sir, we can't worry about that now…" Ghost said quietly, having MacTavish turn to him with a inquiring look written all over his face.

"Let's go, Ghost." Again, the man seemed to have dodged Ghost's replies, and simple patted Ghost's broad shoulder as he walked past. Riley smiled weakly under his ghastly balaclava, and followed in MacTavish's footsteps.

The Captain may have been a strong individual, both mentally and physically, but he was still young, and not yet fully immune to witnessing the death of his men and their constant state of being in danger. It was stressful and overbearing to always be alert of not just oneself, but the other five as well. His men were _his_ responsibility, and whatever happened to them, no matter what it may be, he felt it was his fault. He was their guardian, but he was also their human guardian, he was no angel, even _he _couldn't promise to himself that he was going to be able to keep them all safe.

MacTavish cared for each of his men, but for some reason, there was something about Roach he really liked. He saw himself in Roach: quiet, skilled, and determined. MacTavish was only a year older than the Sergeant, (Roach had decided to join the military later in his college years; he was slightly older than the other sergeants) so he related to the reserved man even more. Seeing Roach with his alert eyes and skillful shooting only made the Captain watch after him more. It wasn't that Roach was going to be getting special treatment from his Captain, but he was going to be specifically guarded in a way.

Ghost and MacTavish finally reached the chopper. Once the two stepped into their transportation, the chopper lifted off the ground and took to the sky.

* * *

Midway through the journey, the men had learned much. Apparently, Meat was a father of two four year old twins; a boy and a girl. He smiled as the picture of them was passed around.

"You're a _father_? Why are you doing this profession?" Dingo questioned with amazement.

"Well, I was already involved with the military when their mum got pregnant, and by then, I was pretty set on knowing what I was going to do. Sure, you can call me selfish, but I know you guys understand. Besides, I _love _my children. That's why they're with my parents right now, their mother didn't want them." Meat stated so rather nonchalantly with love. His fellow comrades saw him in a new light.

Talking about Meat and his twins had Ghost wondering about Royce. The topic quickly changed with the opening of Ghost's concealed mouth.

"Out of curiosity, how come you sound more American than British, Royce? You apparently came from the UK," he gestured towards the Union Jack on Royce's left shoulder.

Royce smiled. "I was wondering when someone was going to ask that…" he began, "my father got transferred over to Liverpool by his job when I was fourteen. When we finally arrived, I met Meat and immediately became friends," his eyes found Meat, "I've lived in Britain since."

The men continued to talk over the spinning turbine of the soaring helicopter.

The quiet Roach finally broke his streak of silence. "Captain MacTavish, I was wondering, when we get to Brazil, how are we going to start to search for Rojas? We have hardly any leads."

MacTavish was glad someone finally asked. Ghost and him always cover the mission amongst themselves, and briefly sprinkle the details on their men, so it was relieving to hear Roach speak.

"The locals. A lot of them are more than willing to talk. Rojas has been quite the pest over there, especially with his gang of Militia. We'll have to remain under the radar as best as possible to avoid suspicion, but Shepherd's hooked us up with some intel and names," the Captain answered.

"Rojas hasn't just been stirring up trouble in other nations, he's affecting his own as well. Rio de Janeiro is home to his hot spots, and of course, his violent ways," added in Ghost as he leaned his weight forward in between his knees. "With that being said, we have the advantage, but the key is: finding the ones that are going to talk."

"We know a few: one owns a hotel, Hotel Rio, and the others have small businesses or work underground to help out men like ourselves. When we land, Thiago Serra will send us in our first direction. It's all we have…" Captain MacTavish stated confidently. The men hoped that luck and the magic of miracles were on their side.

It was a long trip, but when they arrived in the hot country (after a few stops on the way to refuel and to eat) they were greeted by a middle aged man with cinnamon hued skin and graying black hair. He had a warm, welcoming face and was approaching with his arms and palms opened. Roach could read the man's face like any open book. The man was glad, no _thrilled_, to see MacTavish and his fully geared men behind him. There were two other men behind him with assault rifles, but they were too robotic to pay any heed.

"Thiago Serra?" Captain MacTavish asked politely once he reached talking distance.

The short man smiled kindly. "At your service. John MacTavish?" The man had a thick accent, but spoke English well.

MacTavish shot out a broad palmed hand for Thiago to except. "In the flesh." Their palms met; Thiago shook MacTavish's hand, enthusiastically using both hands.

"It sure is a pleasure!" He viewed the others with his fixed smile. "Your men look prepared enough, but…I hope you speak the native tongue. You'll have a hard time with the locals without it."

Captain MacTavish jutted a thumb over his shoulder in Ghost's direction. "We have two men who can speak Portuguese. My Leftenant, Ghost, and one of my sergeants, Meat."

Thiago seemed pleased; he nodded contentedly. "In that case, I feel it safe enough to send you and your men off on your own. We've provided two vans at the end of this street to transport you to the most recent hot spot Rojas was seen. My men can take you there."

"Much appreciated." MacTavish thanked before following the two men with the FAL rifles. But before they could get too far, Thiago found MacTavish's shoulder.

"And please, be careful…Rojas has Militia everywhere…they look like any normal civilian here. So be on the look out. Also, Rojas wears a red hat. Like a baseball player."

MacTavish nodded in his direction. "Good to know…any bit of information is accepted with gratification. Safety be with you, friend."

Thiago smiled again at MacTavish and the others who past. "To you as well."

The Task Force 141 followed the two Brazilian soldiers to the vans where they halved themselves and jumped into separate vehicles. They had little clue as to where they would be taken until their driver turned in his seat.

"We take you to Juan's convenient store. Rojas was last seen there with a friend."

MacTavish looked at Ghost. "His assistant…"

Ghost nodded. "We need him as much as we need Rojas, either one of them will work." Ghost leaned forward to talk to the driver. "Darker complected man?"

The driver confirmed Ghost's suspicion with a nod of his head. "Yes, almost black. Long faced, spaced teeth."

"That would be him," Ghost replied with his usually flat tone. "Alright, take us to Juan's….I'm sorry, I never caught your name."

"Gomes, you can call me Gomes."

"Well met, Gomes." MacTavish said before peering over his shoulder at Roach who had also joined them in the white van.

Roach had a perplexed look on his face; he appeared in a rather childish state of being. MacTavish gave him an all to familiar smile with his eyes, that Roach acknowledged with the bob of his head.

It only took a few minutes to reach Juan's, the real traffic was trying to avoid the pedestrians, but it was still a short drive. When they pulled up in front of Juan's, Gomes pointed a finger towards the entrance.

"There it is, Juan should be right inside, he's already expecting us."

Gomes stated with his accented words while his head was lowered to view the front of the yellow tinted building.

"Thank you, Gomes," MacTavish replied as he grabbed his M4A1 that lay by his side.

Gomes reached out towards the Scottish man, and halted his movement. They both peered into the other's face. "You need any help?"

MacTavish looked at Ghost to get an answer; the only thing his received from the costumed man was a stern shaking of his head. Captain MacTavish turned back towards Gomes with his lips parted.

"I think we'll be alright, if we need it, you'll know."

With that being said, the Task Force regrouped outside of the vans they exited from and now stood confidently before Juan's.

"Meat, Dingo, I want you two to stay outside, keep your eyes open for anyone who may look familiar. The rest of you, come inside with me. Ghost, I want you to do the talking." MacTavish ordered.

"Roger that," Ghost answered agreeably, bringing his M4A1 up before his chest.

"Remember men, they're civilians around, we don't want to scare them, but also consider that you may be looking into the eyes of one of Rojas' Militia men," MacTavish added in as his eyes scanned the faces of the tall men standing around him, "let's go."

While Meat and Dingo kept guard, with watchful eyes, MacTavish and the other three ventured inside to be met with a wide array of opened-eyed stares.

A middle aged woman yelped and dropped the canned food she held at the sight of the heavily armed men that came casually strolling in. The four men had no trouble walking past the people who populated the store and towards the counter where a grey-haired, balding man sat with his face crammed into an opened magazine.

Ghost tapped his gloved knuckles onto the surface of the plastic counter, pulling the man's attention from the pages. "Oi," Ghost greeted.

The man shot up straight and threw the magazine onto the counter; his eyes were bulging with fright. But the fright quickly flushed from his face once he realized who the men were.

He stood up and began to shoo the costumers out. "Saia, agora!" (Get out, now!) He continued to fervently wave them out until the store was completely dead, aside from the five who remained.

Suddenly, he sat back down and sighed heavily, shooting the four men a frosty stare, which was mainly directed at Ghost and his horrifying apparel. "Apareceu antes que esperei…" (You showed up earlier than I expected…)

Ghost backfired, "O antes o melhor." (The earlier the better.)

The man sighed again, but this time, rubbed his face in his hands. "(Rojas came in here two days ago with his Militia gang…they ransacked my store.)" Without warning, Juan replied quickly and went straight to the point.

MacTavish picked up on the name 'Rojas', and looked over at Ghost for a translation. Ghost, without moving his stare from the store owner, raised his finger into the air.

"He says Rojas came into here two days ago, they robbed his store…" Ghost directed his attention back towards the aging man, "Então o que?" (Then what?)

Juan shrugged impatiently, "(They took nearly half the store, but what was I supposed to do? They had guns!") He allowed Ghost to translate his words into English again before continuing, "(There were seven of them all together, his assistant was with him, just like he always is.)"

MacTavish looked to Ghost for an answer, but Ghost just shrugged. "He hasn't given us a location yet," he stated quietly to MacTavish while Juan insisted on talking about how terrifying the experience was.

"Well, ask him for it," MacTavish ordered, showing small signs of an impatience Roach had barely seen.

Ghost jerked his head towards Juan and asked, "(Do you know where they went?)"

Juan looked stressed, the man appeared to have aged several years as he held his chin in his shaking hand. He was beyond nervous, the Task Force's presence was intimidating him, not to mention, the Militia were everywhere. He looked towards the window where he instantly was hit by a realization.

Juan jumped out of his seat and closed the blinds of the windows and slammed the door shut; the humidity quickly elevated and had sweat streaming down the back of their necks.

"(I have no idea! They just simply walked out.)" Came his weakly attempted reply. Ghost narrowed his eyes skeptically. The other three watched curiously wondering what the man had just said.

Ghost craned his neck towards MacTavish and said, "He's not telling us the truth."

"He's lying then," MacTavish confirmed.

"No shit, sir," Ghost replied sourly, but the sourness was directed at the lying man.

Captain MacTavish moved his rifle off to the side, and stepped forward. "We need to know. Thiago specifically told us that this man," he pointed roughly at Juan, "can point us in a general direction." Juan, although knew _some_ English, he could sense the tension was becoming fiery. He was growing anxious.

MacTavish's voice began to rise, "For Christ sakes, hundreds of innocent lives were massacred in an airport because of the man we want," he glared into Juan's eyes, "get it out of him."

"Alright, sir," Ghost suddenly brought himself to his towering height and leaned over the counter with an aggressive aura. "(Listen Juan, I know you're scared of what may come if you talk, but we're here to _get_ Rojas, we'll make sure nothing happens to you. We _need_ to know what you have.)"

A bead of seat rolled off of the man's forehead and down his cheek. He shook his head and raised his shoulders. "(I know nothing of where they went after they came here.)"

MacTavish already knew he didn't fess up, especially when Ghost had no answer for anybody.

With a catlike litheness, Ghost reached over the counter and lifted the man up by his collar and began shouting, "Sabe! Conte-nos!" (You do know! Tell us!)

"(Marcelo on Rodrigo Street! That's who they mentioned!)" With the yelling of the man's voice, Ghost released the man's shirt and allowed him to fall back into his chair.

"(See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?)" Ghost said with annoyance as MacTavish looked at him for the words the man had yelled. "Looks like we're heading over to Rodrigo Street."

MacTavish clapped his hands together once. "Perfect. Let's get moving, we've got a terrorist to catch."

As the men started filing out, MacTavish thanked Juan for his help and Ghost translated, "Obrigado para a ajuda."

When they walked outside, Meat and Dingo peered over their shoulders at the same time with worried stares.

"I'm getting a bad feeling from those guys across the street…" Meat gestured his head towards a group of five men, all wearing sunglasses, that were just standing and staring with their tanned arms crossed. "They've been watching us this entire time."

"Get into the vans." MacTavish ordered, paying no attention to Meat's statement. He actually _was_, but Meat was right, and they had to leave the area immediately.

Once inside the vans, Captain MacTavish told Gomes the location and then proceeded to say, "Will your men keep over-watch of Juan?"

Gomes stared back nervously, which had a lump form in the Captain's throat. "I…can't promise anything. But I will radio in some men to keep guard of his shop."

MacTavish wasn't satisfied, but it would have to do. Something inside him, and even the others, told him that Juan probably wouldn't make it through the night.

So within ten minutes they found themselves on Rodrigo Street. The Task Force dug for details and information as best as they could, and continuously were given different leads. Apparently, Rojas is an active man who manages to appear everywhere all over Rio de Janeiro.

The number of stares from the civilians they received had increased too, and they started to wonder, were they even civilians? Unfortunately, there was no way of telling.

* * *

By the end of the day, their transports had dropped them off at Hotel Rio where the Task Force would stay the night to refuel and consider their next steps.

The hotel was cleared out for the Task Force, something they were grateful for. Their mission had to be as subtle as possible and they didn't want to risk any potential Militia gang members _also_ staying a night at the hotel to eavesdrop or, worse, even kill them.

When the sun had falling, and the waning moon was cast high into the sky, Roach stood on a balcony and watched the streets below. The others were either drifting to sleep or snoozing silently. The way the cool night breeze hit his skin, had him pondering peacefully.

Ghost read a book quietly off in the corner, using a small lamp as a source of dim light. But the others were off in their own dream worlds, even Roach who watched the trees sway and the stars shimmer. He had rarely seen a sea of stars in the sky, but tonight was one of those night that was lit up by the universe outside of this one.

Then the erupting sound of an argument down from below startled him and caused his eyes to affix onto the two men who were snapping at each other. Roach had no idea what was being said, he had never even attempted at learning Portuguese. He did know some Spanish and Russian, but he was no master at either of them. So all he could do was stare mindfully, amusing himself by guessing what words they threw at each other.

At first, the commotion wasn't loud enough to affect the others inside, other than Roach, until is escalated drastically once the one in the dark clothes smacked the other across the face. The force was strong enough to have the injured man stumbled backwards and fall into the dirt. The noise had Riley lift his unmasked head up out of curiosity. Riley said nothing, only stared briefly before returning to the pages of his book.

But Roach was still uneasy about it, he shifted restlessly as he watched the argument unfold into a full-out assault. He felt the need to say something, but it wasn't his place to interfere…how sure was he of that?

Suddenly, he saw the dark cloaked man reach for his belt and pull out something that glistened and sparkled in the moonlit night. The man on the ground shouted something before the shining object emitted a thunderous pop and began to smoke.

Roach jump out of distraught. The shining instrument had been a pistol, and judging by the sound of it, the firearm had quite the kick to it.

"Oh shit! Someone just got shot!" Roach hollered back into the room. But the Task Force had already been awoken by the loud gunfire that had stirred the stillness of the night.

"What the bloody…" Meat shot up quickly and ran for his shoes.

"I'll get my first-aid kit…" Royce announced as he rummaged through his bag.

"Meet downstairs, pronto," MacTavish broadcasted while the men grabbed their shoes and even their side-arms, just to be safe.

Within seconds the owners of the hotel and the Task Force were surrounding the wounded man, who moaned with pain.

"Keep applying pressure," Royce told the man after he put a thick cloth over the bullet hole. Meat translated for Royce.

"(Call an ambulance.)" Riley told the owners of the hotel. They quickly responded by rushing back inside.

By now, many residents had gone outside to see what all of the noise and chaos was about. They knew just as much as the Task Force did: nothing.

Royce ripped open the man's shirt and was taken back by how large the wound was. "Holy sh--Roach, what did that guy shoot him with?"

Roach stepped forward. "It was a pistol, but I couldn't get a clear image."

"Must have been a Desert Eagle," MacTavish answered as he peered over Royce's shoulder.

The man was losing blood fast so they had to get an answer out of him.

"(Who did this to you?)" Riley asked the panting man who was fading in and out of consciousness as Royce patched him up as best as he could.

The man began breathing heavily, and in between breaths would say a man's name, "Enrique Torres."

MacTavish looked to Ghost who could only shrug.

"Ask him for clarification," MacTavish replied.

Riley turned back towards the dying man. "(Who is he?)"

They could hear the sirens off in the distance. Roaring in their ears.

"(You should know him as Rojas' assistant…)"

This dying man's words just shot up the importance scale.

Before the man had completely passed out, they had discovered that he was a former Militia man, and that they could find Rojas's whereabouts through Enrique's brother, who was located at the far end of town. Captain MacTavish had Ghost write down the address and the man's name: Victor Torres. They now had a lead that was actually going to take them somewhere, but the men would have to wait until morning before taking any actions, as much waiting may kill.


End file.
